


My Poetry Compilation

by lifetheuniverseandeverything42



Category: Original Work
Genre: (like literally), Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Birthday, Depression, Dissociation, Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Poetry, Poetry - Freeform, Queer Friendly, Queer Themes, Recovery, References to Depression, Scars, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Harm Culture, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Self-Reflection, Self-Worth Issues, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 152
Words: 40,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifetheuniverseandeverything42/pseuds/lifetheuniverseandeverything42
Summary: All my poems, posted in mostly a chronological order of when they were written. Can serve as a journey through recovery; and the teenage years of a self-harming, socially anxious, depressive, suicidal, autistic (but doesn't really know it yet) girl - in other words: me...Not expecting much traffic for this work, just wanted to have them all in one easily-accessible place.I bear my soul in this poems: if no one reads them that's fine with me!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. According

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm gonna be very honest with you guys right now.  
> My works of fanfiction all 'deal' with a subject that is close to my heart - obviously. 
> 
> I am a recovering self harmer. While I am pretty comfortable with this label and the circumstances around it, when I'm particularly tired or emotional or hormonal things kinda get confusing for me emotions-wise. You see, technically speaking almost two years ago now (wow, I can't believe it's been that long) I was diagnosed with high-functioning autism (or ASD), you may know it as Asperger's syndrome, and that was supposed to explain away all of the mucked up wiring inside my head. And to a huge degree it did, and it totally allowed me to 'come to terms' with a huge portion of myself... But that didn't suddenly remove or erase any of what I'd been through, pretty much since puberty began but mostly since I hit my GCSE years (sorry, non-Brits if you're confused).  
> In actual fact, I was about 13 when I first properly cut myself. I been using a compass for months when finally got desperate enough and smashed open a sharpener with a brick. Intense, I know.  
> Look, the point of this note was not to give you lot my whole life story - because that would take a hell of a lot longer - but to explain one major detail relevant to this work...  
> I write to cope - probably not a huge surprise, but writing fanfiction is relatively new for me. Generally, my format of choice is poetry. Now while I fully get that that particular form of literature is not to everyone's taste, I can honestly say I would probably not be alive right now if I hadn't been able to vent as I did, and do, through expression in poems.  
> I wouldn't be explaining all this right now, as most of you probably don't care all that much and I don't expect many people to actually read these; but I wanted to add a little contextual explanation...  
> I am deliberately posting all my poetry from over the years, here, in a chronological order of when they were written; so for those who are curious it is basically a diary of recovery, complete with ups and downs, the importance of assistance in the right way and a couple of rants about society and such into the bargain.  
> The point is that I'm not saying they're all amazing poems - most were written in the middle of the night or in equally high emotion situations - just that quite honestly I believe reading them could aid in understanding and awareness for self-harm and its recovery and relapse cycle - for those unaware or have not experienced this (I am very conscious that the majority of people in existence have not struggled with hurting themselves). And understanding, gained through honest unfiltered insight into a self-harmer's psyche, is one way forward - with any issue, tbh, but especially Mental Health.
> 
> If you comment any questions you may have about any part of any poem, I will be happy to answer them. And: enjoy? But don't let anything trigger you... (At some point I plan on putting trigger warnings for each poem but I haven't had chance yet - sorry).

Every day is a new day

Every morning a new start

Each awakening a new beginning

Each dreams ending, a new chapter

With every blink, with every breath

We change, day after day

Sometimes for the better

Or others not so much

With each chance that is taken

A thousand others pass us by

And in the weary noonday air

Past is the past and present present

Only the future is yet to be

So seize each dazed and cautious hour

Take each moment as a tale

Untold as yet, but soon by you

There is beauty everywhere

Gaze upon it hold it tight

Bare the truth, so cold and sure

To witness joy by close of day

The stars are there when it is dark

And rainbows only shimmer in the quiet of the rain

Laugh and you will see

What each word can do

Speak kind words, open your heart

Have the courage to stay true to you

For that is who you are

There is nothing worse than fear

But even it is necessary

And hope has more power when it's used

Strengthen others so they can strengthen you

Stronger together, stronger as one

Safe, so toil becomes a game

March on through the trying times

See the light, just out of reach

Keep going, the finish line's in sight

Know the future is before you

And each journey starts with a single step

So all you have to do is breathe

Each breath, not always welcomed

Brought by the graceful breeze

Get up, go, go, out into the world

Begin your life anew today

And treasure the morning light

Each day is a new beginning

A new start, a chapter not begun

Hope is by your side now

So let its kindness fill your soul

Life is a road full of forks and bends

But the path is never clear nor easy

But it’s there, so why go back

Our eyes look forward for a reason

That's where we're going

Now and always after

Time can be lost but never found

And explanations are only worthy

If they can ease a troubled mind

Life is not just out there yonder

But within us, till we pass on

Our beating hearts and active minds

Form a statement, good and true

We are alive

So hadn't we better act like it?


	2. Whispers to give up

What life is there left

From the scattered remains

From the shattered hope

The poisonous stench of love

Has forever tainted all of worth

And the fragile dreams that live on

Are dismal and dreary

Filled with denial and self-hate

And a bitterness for dread

So I ask again

What life is there left

What life is worth having

Not this one, not this nightmare

When a mind is so consumed by pain

And the harm eats up any joy that might survive

Nothing is left, nothing remains

But a shadowy hollow, and echo

Of a life, a love, a longing

All from before the walls came tumbling down

When all that continues

Is a terrible hunger

A looming desire

A feisty need

For the blood yet to be spilled

But that will be for sure

For no matter how hard the struggle

No matter how long the fight

No matter how desperate, no matter how observed

The war will carry on

And blades will draw blood

Many a time from now

Till the body crumples

Skin pale and cool

No blood left to pour

No soul to release

Nothing is left, nothing remains

All spheres, all centers

Consumed and warped

By the hated disease

Slipping through the mind and limbs

Skulking, watching, wishing

Waiting to wheedle

So now nothing is untouched

Nothing is left, nothing remains

But an empty shell

A shadow, a hollow mask

Phantom, Spectre, Spirit

Loneliness is but a deadly feeling

That alone forms said husk

Like water drains from a cracked jar

Like blood drips from a slice in the skin

Defeat draws near, and my time seems to be up.


	3. The Young

Do you know just how hard it is?

To see cuts on the arm of a girl,

Cuts you've cut as well, yourself, before,

And thought thoughts that make stomachs swirl;

At twelve years old does she know that pain,

That eats you up from the inside,

The hurting necessary to call for a blade,

And make streams of scarlet to hide;

Those shaking limbs, fingers grasping fingers,

Both of you clawing for life,

You see the pain of your heart echoed in her eyes,

As you pry stubborn hands from the knife;

She cries and on impulse you hold her close,

Holding back sobs of your own,

The two of you, troubled, struggling, dead,

Neither willing to let go and return home;

It's dangerous you see, to care so much,

When we both know it will hurt greater,

But to pull another back, as you step closer to the edge,

Understand it will cause pain, but only later;

Once she is gone, I let the tears flow,

And they flow in rivulets they've flowed in before,

It could swallow me whole, the grief that I feel,

But my itching fingers are reaching for more;

Knife in my hands, curled up in a ball, footsteps coming in closer,

There's an arm round my side and a hand over mine,

She's holding me tightly, but do you care at all?


	4. Why not?

Cuts are healing

And the scars are fading

But the pain is rising

And my eyes are crying

My heart is breaking

I don’t know what I'm saying

But I know I'm dying

Because inside I'm hurting

If any non harmer says why not stop,

They don’t understand how it feels drop for drop,

You're driving your hurt and worries away,

Wondering and hoping that you'll last the day

When they stare and ask questions again and again

Just push away or just scream or embrace the pain


	5. Those stars that shine so brightly

Those stars that shine so brightly

Would still shine every night

And the sun that rises so mightily

Would still rise to its awesome height

And the moon that has watched over me

Would still wax and wane and waver

Shining so inconsistently

Glimmering silently forever

The rain would still rain on, I know

And the sea would still swirl and swell

The clouds would still drift on with snow

And the wind would still howl as well

This world we live our lives to see

With cold love's blinding tears

Would keep on turning, without you or me

As fear's call silently jeers

You give me enough rope and I'll hang myself

And any fuel I'll burn even brighter

But even stars one day will lose their health

And with their deaths, whole galaxies teeter

Among the stars, that vast expanse

Can one solitary life even matter

Can one soul? No, nothing ever compares

Out there, it's a word amongst chatter

Do I even matter now, what does it really mean

That the world will just spin on, regardless

If I'm dead or alive or in between

Without worth, I'm just surviving, its hopeless

My death one of millions and I'm gone

Can my life really ever mean something

If my impact upon the world is none

But to me it still will mean nothing

While the sun will still rise mightily

And the moon will still quietly be

And those stars that shine so brightly

Will continue to shine without me.


	6. The Wind

I heard the wind

It called my name

I asked if it could catch me

I'm not afraid

I told the wind

It whispered I ought to be

I stood up tall

Within the wind

Willing it to come

Then I spread my arms

And closed my eyes

It murmured, why won’t you run?

Come catch me wind!

Come carry me away

Come catch me so we can dance!

Each cry, each shout,

It stole from me

It was howling as I fell

Then soaring high

Its wings around me

Buffeted, in an embrace

Safe within those wings

You find me,

Asleep, till end of days

That final dance

Forevermore

Like so I know I'll be

Till you steal me away

And lock me deep

As tortured ground surrounds me

Fractured though

You will let me go

And leave your tears as shackles

Home at last

Up in the sky

The wind as eternal friend

We'll glide and fly

With birds in our wake

As all will come to an end

I jumped, oh yes

I jumped with the wind

And yes, oh yes, it caught me

And I would jump once more

I would! I would!

If only I were able

And I'd dance once more

Alone with the wind

And we'll dance on and on till dawn

For I would dance forever

With the wind to guide me

Yes, I would dance and dance on

With just my friend beside me


	7. Numb

It’s slipping away- I’m slipping away- its draining out of me

As water leaks from a crack in a glass

And like blood dripping from a slice in the skin

I’m losing it- it’s fading- I’m gone

Empty and dead, ghostlike I wander

But still my heart beats on, how I wonder?

A shell: hollow; a mask that does not hide a face

A brick wall hiding nothing but an empty space

Like water drips from a cracked glass

And blood leaks from broken skin

All, care, all worth, all conscious thought- lost

And Numbness takes over again

Disassociated, distant and dead

Feeling nothing, but blood trickling from a vein

Feeling nothing at all, but the sharp stinging pain

Ringing out through every synapse in my head

Screaming out against the quietest death

The quiet- silent- motionless weight: without glee

That hangs its heavy hatred on me

Until I cannot feel a thing- one more breath

And I’m consumed: the glass is almost empty

And I feel like I am dying- though in truth that’s something

I am walking in a fog- blinded- no thoughts are clear

Only the jumbled and disjointed remain

There’s a sleepy edge to my movements, too

I’m asleep- though not really- and yet still moving

Walking, yes, but each step is an effort

To put one foot in front of the other

Inflicts a strain so utterly profound

As each breath must be forcibly breathed

Each and every muscle heaved

Contracting and expanding, in a rhythm that’s mine

Only to spill scarlet droplets onto white tile

I want to laugh, I want to cry, I want to shout and scream and sigh

But all I ever do is wait- what else can I undertake?

For these silent moments must move on

It takes a great strength to set me free

From burning rage and seething doubt

Turned to solitary stationary silence

I wish for sleep- drowsy and sweet

To smother all musings of this false rest

Awake no more- so softly I’m slipping

Into a dream world much like my own

Life or death, asleep or awake

Is this all real, or is it fake?

I am here, and yet I’m not

And indistinct shapes just trot on by

There’s hours uncounted, marching in rows

Stamping out emotional highs and lows

Set me free from my silent shackles

That grip me tight although I scream

A numbness resounds in my every cell

There’s nothing left- no willpower lingers

And though my hearts still beats and blood is still shed

I am a ghost and strange dreams fill my head.


	8. A Realisation

_It's there_

_An itch_

_In the back of my mind_

_Slowly creeping forward_

The sky is blue- azure blue,

The bluest I've ever seen it;

_I scratch the itch_

_A twinge of pain_

_In the back no longer_

_Forward!_

There's a bird that's flying high- alone,

The wind must be faster above;

_I'm scratching a tear_

_A tear in my flesh_

_As twinges turn to spasms_

_I bleed_

It dives and rises and soars, once more,

Riding the wind like a pony;

_There's no longer an itch_

_It's more like a scream_

_Screaming inside of my head_

_I join it_

The wind is picking up now- it's faster!

The wheeling gull is flapping up higher;

_There's screaming_

_More blood_

_And a chill of pain_

_Colder now- I sit_

Lonely, it spirals off for the distance,

Over the distant horizon it goes;

_I'm crying_

_I think_

_And hugging my knees_

_But the itch has returned_

The clouds are so pretty: so fluffy and white,

And the sky is just so very blue;

_My nails are itchy_

_My skin is stained red_

_My arm is in tatters_

_And screams fill my head_

The sky is turning red now, as if the sun is setting;

And scarlet's leaking across the cloud's pure white;

_The blood won't stop coming_

_I can't make it stop_

_I'm crying and I'm screaming_

_Please someone help_

Dear The Idealistic- Reality's here,

Make-believe is fading: wake up's near

Fairy tale stories, belong in a book;

And as the river swallows me- I drown,

_And wake up._


	9. Encouragement

You are the east, but not the west,

And where the sun will rise,

Is within your heart, each morning time,

And hope shines out, surprised?

It's always rising; glowing, shining,

You never let it set,

Not till a stronger person walks,

Where all others fear to tread,

You make me proud, you make me brave,

Your shackles are in tatters,

Rise up once more, strong once again,

Each morning get up and go,

You face the world, after every strike,

After every blow and surrender,

Time and time again you stand,

Always supported but often alone,

You are strong, you are amazing,

I think there's no one better,

To face the things you face each day,

Your struggles, your anxious burdens,

You have a strength none can envision,

And in truth, it's who you are,

Underestimated -you'll see- you can carry on,

Even after every fall: you can get up,

Rise each morning like the blazing sun,

And shine out that loving light,

You have such power, hidden away,

To love and give hope and be bright,

So can I ask you, just one more time,

To fight these demons that haunt you,

The shadows I see, that lurk beneath,

Your weary smile and laughter,

Listen to me when I tell you truths,

And what they mean for you,

You can do it, and so much more,

My faith in you is boundless,

You are incredible, you are remarkable,

You are unique and so special,

Ask anyone and you will see,

What caring hearts will answer,

Believe in yourself, and you're halfway there,

All mountains turn to rubble,

All oceans shallow and all rivers slow,

Those obstacles can be defeated,

You mean so much to me, you see,

So keep fighting, keep going, succeed.


	10. Lux

I can see a lighthouse, there in your stance

Those solid solemn structures

And as you're standing in the storm

You light bleak ocean's waters

It's crackling and spitting, as you do sometimes

Can you infer what I perceive?

A blazing hearth, so cosy, so warm

Fears crumble to ashes and leave

A moon glimmers inconsistent in your heart

And gives you strength that's boundless

But your light can also wane as well

Just to wax and be brighter, with kindness

A starry night rests in your smile

And beaming the sky you bedight

You hide its glow from all laughter

And still calmly conceal any light

As a mother's arms will hold a child

You cradle all light just as close

And share its loving message daily

With those who may need it the most

Though your heart is so untamed

You possess an earthly mind

And wield each one, so separately

Both free and intertwined

The softest sunset is your soul

Though with a sprite-like leaping

You are as graceful as the dusk

But your joyous calamity's leaking

A glaring sunrise- you bring the light

And all potent wishes with it

A hope that breathes as one with you

May to impromptu life commit

You are a shining beacon, though

Doubts may consume all thought

As we all must do- just carry on

And rescue the accosted and besought.


	11. The Tree

I see you standing there, so proud

I am of your huge strength

To hold so fast to your beliefs

Your morals, like roots, are tight

A woven lattice in the ground

Stopping you from falling

It holds you up and lets you

Be stronger than the rest

Does it not hurt to be so open

So openly do you care

Your every action, your every word

So much bigger and bolder, than theirs

You hold the sun within your heart

It's energy drives you on

You never stop, you never rest

While other's hope is gone

Soaring high, reaching for the stars

Your branches support the world

My world, at least; though winter comes

You never wane nor waver

Through rain and snow and gale-force winds

You are a rock that remains

Foundations for a life that's good

Like a sunset betraying a sunrise.


	12. For the teachers.

You work together, yet stand isolated

And you bear it alone but walk united

The respect you deserve, you may not always get

And with your heads held high you continue, and yet

Your struggles are shared, but your struggling is not

And your workload -never lightened- is talked of a lot

Such a paradoxical life: stress-filled and chaotic

Confusing and puzzling; but somehow hypnotic

You’re all so kind, so caring and annoyed

Your calm facade daily, is slowly destroyed

Eroding, lesson by lesson, till frustrated anger shows

Each day you are tested, on what no one knows

To be put through your paces, a rigorous task

By the drill sergeant -a teenager- whom you unmask

Every day like the next one, and the one after that

And all the tasks you've been set seem to grow once you're sat

At home, can you relax? No there's still more to do

A long night to haunt the morning, but you haven't a clue

How refuge sits beside you, on the sagging sofa chair

A fellow slave of teaching, your shackles laid bare

Slowly sipping coffee, or another warming drink

For once would you just listen, and you can see what you think

If you could work together, more often than you are

And strive to ease the stresses that will always leave a scar

I know that your community is both a large one and close-knit

All humans with you own minds and tongues that dance with wit

Your patience for the irritating teen is phenomenal

Though they haunt you daily, you carry on- it's optional

You never give up, unlike your pupils, you never ever give in

You might pick which battles you fight although sometimes you cannot win

When faced with an exasperation you simply can't defeat

Would you surrender and back down and act like you've been beat?

When it comes to a deadline that you have been set

When you hit that line and cross over, is there regret?

Do you sympathise with those who must everyday must contend

With the targets you organise to bring about the end

But do others realise the thought that enters each one

That is pressured by a finality: you must be done!

Every deadline you set is defined by another

Which presses you down among mountains of bother

So how -it’s a mystery- you carry on; each day

Rising in darkness to only pave the way

For the students, in their hundreds, who pass under your wings

On their way to a life, that your arduous work brings

Can you be thanked enough for what you constantly do

Will they ever realise how much you toil for someone new

A stranger within whom you place your faith, your goodwills

Driving them onwards into a sweet future of thrills

With many mountains to climb, but ones that are tolerable

You gave them the skills that make all mountains conquerable

So why aren’t you more respected, more understood and admired

To put up with teenagers, so irritable and moody when tired

You bear them along on their way, year after year

You say goodbye and somehow resist the strong urges to cheer

Do you really care so much? To use your boundless talents so:

To help us pick ourselves up, so one day -someday- we’ll return and know

How much you help, how much you assist

With our struggles; so patiently, you never desist

Our troubles and worries, you ease; though your own

Get pushed under a mat to deal with once you’re home

You are people- you’re human too

Why can’t they see how much that’s true?

You have your own lives and they shine with such hope

For a future worth having, with which we can cope

With the skills that you teach us, that you show us will work

In real life and its challenges, with a self-satisfied smirk

You wave off one more batch of standard ignorant kid

Turned into young adults -mature-ish- with pride you stand amid

Say goodbye, maybe hope, that one day you’ll see them again

As you watch them join the world, those young women and men

Whom you have nurtured and grown in a pot

Providing sunlight and water and soil without rot

I know some days you struggle and life just beats you down

But every time you will come out of it, and claim your awesome crown

A prize there should be, every day for each of you

Teachers striving for flawless learning, is that what you do?

Or are you simply trying to survive each traumatic day

And groaning do you awaken when the alarms start to bray

Whatever the method, whatever the reasons; I remain so proud of you all

Somehow you withstand many seasons beginning with the dead leaves fall

Emotions a roiling mass as their solid weight

Can drag you down into darkness, or make you elate

All those around you, with weary -but truthful- smiles

Honesty a standard; with your chin up high through trials

I know you struggle sometimes, as all ordinary people do

You still inspire, you still encourage: those that march a pace behind you

As you work together -united- to help one another

But still bear it alone: not true! I know you have each other...


	13. Humanity

To be human

Is to be alive, is

This true or false?

To be alive is to feel

To be feeling, living

Not just surviving

That’s what they

Say now.

To be human, one of mankind,

Mankind; not male, not female, just human

Living, not surviving, thriving. Thinking- brains working,

That is what the word means, ‘mankind’ the kind who thinks.

Minds that are active, thriving on every day moments. Puzzles to solve

Teasing the neural connections made in the womb and added to since then.

The Thinker. The cognitive one. The one who thinks above all else. This is us.

The humans, the people, evolved so long ago. So today they could consume,

Every molecule of resource: deemed of worth, given value, called useful.

So today they would inhabit every inch of this planet. Outmatching that,

Which they share this world with. Not to live alongside or to cooperate

But to crush and destroy and obliterate out of now, those beings

Who can only exist in history’s tall tales. Science long past –lost.

To be human is to be more. More than alive, not just surviving

But not just thriving. To have purpose is to have life, to hold

It in one’s hands and grip it tight. That is to be human –

To feel, to care, to love and appreciate. To protect

And nurture and cherish other life, other forms

Of beauty, that can be found all around us:

Found in a sunrise - a rebirth of fiery light,

Or petals unfurling under morning dew.

And all creatures (great and small) here

Like us –just the same- but with less of

Cognitive thoughts, seemingly superior

Human beings are not here to rule, not

To conquer, not to destroy nor to inflict

Their will, on those unable to defend

Their way, their life, their minds.

Mankind must care, nurture

And protect. Love –each

Other- but outsiders too.

Maybe surviving must

Not come first. But

After, after love and

Caring, after all the

Pain and hurt is

Gone. Maybe

Then allow

Life to flourish

Like flowers –rosy

Red or vibrant yellow-

Unfurling soft petals

Out in the garden.


	14. Whispering

I am not dead, but I am not alive,

I am buzzing bees, without their hive,

I am an angel, trapped in hell,

I am a demon, yes that as well,

I have a house, but not a home,

I am always surrounded, but also alone,

I cry and laugh, but am emotionally blank,

A ghost with a beating heart, who can I thank?

There are so many gifts, so many treasures,

All lost and found, but no one measures,

How many times must I find myself?

To be lost again to mental ill-health,

I beg, I cry, I scream, I ask,

For a hand to hold and a life to mask,

Can one person please just care?

For an hour, I want someone to be there,

To hold me safe and keep me calm,

To open doors and guard from harm,

Rescuer, redeemer; come set me free,

Or let me die- now which will it be?


	15. Voices

If there's a voice that's calling in your head

Should you not listen to its cries?

And if it's screaming louder than your own voice

Still would you ignore its crying?

But if you have a crying in your leg

From where blood vessels are squeezed

Surely you listen, because it tells you to move

And release the blood flowing toward your knees

Though after you shift, pins and needles appear

As a punishment- or is it only a reaction?

And if I listen to my thoughts, a little blood is shed

But in the simplest of interactions

It's true, I listen, each and every time

Though once I would try to resist

It's easier, in the end, to merely not fight

As the outcome just always is

Blood is bled and people get hurt

So why fight if there's nothing I can do?

Why do I listen to those voices in my head?

When I know what they whisper isn't true,

I'm always waiting: waiting for the end

For my mind to be quiet and the voices be gone

For my thoughts to be peaceful and jumbled much less

For my heart to stop racing with each error I fall upon

Would you listen? If you were put to the test

Could you withstand it, every day like the rest?

Day after day, each one like the first

Fighting a losing battle, with those voices you call cursed.


	16. French: Meaning Petite

How can you do it?

Simply stand when your legs won't hold.

When your body won't stop swaying,

And the up becomes the down.

When that wall is your new best friend.

How do you get up again?

After hours as a quivering wreck.

An emotional mess- while we can only watch.

Helpless and unsure we stand by looking on.

As your motor controls fade into oblivion.

How can you function?

If you cannot even breathe.

If you're struggling to get enough oxygen,

And you can barely speak.

If all you can do is lie there from your beanbag at the side.

How can you still continue?

When your head is lolling, like a bobble one.

And your spine will only curl over itself.

If your arms are like loops of spaghetti,

And your mind is as scrambled as can be.

How can you ever focus?

As chocolate, biscuits - food, becomes the centre of everything.

When any makeup is long since gone.

Though if your wobbly smile can cling on through,

Any troubles of life will pass you by.

How could you possibly,

Build a life on these shifting sands?

This shaking ground is not a foundation,

For the life that you had planned.

When your day lasts only hours and then you have to sleep.

How will hours of exams go?

If you can only manage one a day- if that.

When your future is defined, by something you cannot do.

If your future is that uncertain, then I only have one question,

And that is: How can I help you?


	17. On the Edge

I'm standing, looking out to sea

A thousand gulls soaring all around

Screaming, calling out for me to join in

But as I take a single step

The cliff’s edge lines up with my feet

Shaking I stare down at the swirling waters

An unknown depth- an unknown fall- below

When I look up, the birds are gone

And black clouds are massing on the horizon

The sun disappears and suddenly its cold

A frightening gale is rushing at my back

Pushing me, shoving me: off into the abyss

I fight it, or do I - should I?

As the darkness in my mind fills up the shadowy sea

‘Till all I stare onto is black watery depths

But where has my choice gone?

Off with the gulls: its flying away

Fading into the distance amongst the cloudy sky

And I'm alone - without hope

No choice left as the wind is unrelenting

That edge is now behind me

No other option as the falls begins

As the shadows reach out and grab me

And the dark waters pull me in.


	18. A Long Night

It hurts, I can't breathe- there is no escape- as the worst of all thoughts fill my head

It feels like all the world is pressing down on me: it's all knocking at the door

I cannot help but let it in, as all emotions continue to pour

Draining out of me in little droplets known as tears

I cry: I sob, I scream, I shake; but no one ever hears

It's the safest way to deal with things; to not deal with them at all

So now I'm waiting for the dawn to rise, or a sliver of sleep to fall

Surely, I must focus on one battle, when the war is raging daily

When in the midst of the tournament, must every round be fought as bravely

Except I've got nothing left with which to fight – I'm helpless and worse: alone.

Do I even exist right now, if there's nothing to prove I'm here

All I have are two empty fists, whilst longing for something to hold

A reason to continue, to carry on; show me a good reason, not one that's cold

I read the scarring of my arms, that well-read text I know

Like the back of my hands; they also bare scars: as much as they heal, it is slow

I shake too much to be able to sleep, my eyes are scrunched up into my head

Going over my life -all of my history- constantly wishing I was dead

The worst of all thoughts, they're raging too now, but I can't ignore the promise they bring

Death can't be worse, so it's probably better, even if it's not all angels that sing

If its numbness and unawares then at least it's on par; with the average day life currently deals.

Maybe I've got a fair hand, or maybe one that's foul

But this game is one I can no longer play; when no matter what I'll lose

I'm on my own, I'm the only one; so it doesn't matter what I choose

Life, death, or whatever this is now, besides who else will really care

Who would notice, if I give up now, if I cannot voice one more prayer

Please someone help me, or at least leave me alone, let me end this now

Or perhaps fix what is wrong, find what it is first, then discover how

Whether I sleep or die tonight- you know what- I no longer care: if that's wrong

Then I am- though I already knew I'm messed up; before long

This will all be over, for e, and deaths embrace will come- I wonder if it'll be tomorrow- well I can only hope.


	19. Conflict Within

The lines are drawn, the battlefield ready

My tanks are rolling away

Firing endless volleys of thought

Into the enemy that sleeps in my head

The general of the opposition

Is calling ceaselessly for my surrender

As trenches are dug out of memories

And razor-sharp bayonets are fixed onto words

Every step and every word and every breath

Is another raid, another attack, another defence

I'm scouting out the warpath daily

Until exhaustion’s artillery fires again

Sleeplessness plagues my forces constantly

Like the trench-foot of soldiers long ago

Refusing to eat, refusing to relax

Until the encroaching line is pushed back for today

Tomorrow is a battle, I don’t think I can win

As a night-time counter-attack catches us unprepared

Bleeding and broken; let the peace-talks begin now

As my palisades are trampled to hell

Wounded and aching: I watch my hopes fall

Executed at sunrise by ranks of my terror

Locked in a small cell, a prisoner of war

I quake as an armistice I am made to sign

Withdrawal is over, failure’s complete

As my army is slaughtered; the treaty is agreed

I'm guilty for the death and sorrow that follows me

Eagerly I stand at the post of the dawn.


	20. Applicants: Ready & Waiting

A mask should be required to play this game

One of paper or cold white porcelain

A colourful jolly spectacle of fun

Or an emotionless and rigid disguise

A concealing hand, which knows the cards

And handles them deftly with skill

Should also be needed, in order to survive

And continue to play in this match

Comfortable in the spotlight -is also on the criteria

As the stage is set for life to commence

The game of the highest stakes -of life and death

Can only be executed out of shadows in bright light

Quick tongues are essential to even apply

A swift defender, who knows the right hook

And can successfully tear assailants to shreds

As no one has time to wait around

Last -but not least- a heart made of stone

Or maybe a similar cold hard substance

Iron or even tantalum; just so long as its unfeeling

Or else the game costs far too much to risk it


	21. Step by Step

Step by step, a world away

I hear a quiet lion's roar

Tired feet tramping along, day after day

Following the well-worn path of folklore

Mysteries unfolding as times passes by

Excitement fading into cool dry dust

Questions of the empty breeze, disbelieving to the eye

Explanations unweilding, though you must

Clocks ticking onwards, the steady march of time

Waiting on the side lines, the way forward totally obscured

Silent motion, one foot in front of the other like mime

Never really moving at all; uncured

By the bright yellow sun's shining rays

Alone for now, until things change again

At the crossroads -a decision- a forking of the ways

A choice to be made, it’s now or never: but when

Eternity comes a knocking, at the gentle but creaking door

Can patience outwit the certain tragedy that awaits

As snarls and echoes of a long-lost pride, no more

Powerful beats roaming land, dead and dying; that hates

All those who traipse wearily along as well-traversed paths as you get

Oblivion waits quietly, only time will reveal the ending

The final chapter of the book, unwritten as of yet

While the very last lines remain unknown from guessing

Although that never stops the expectant, ever

Through sight-shrouding mists of hatred

As long withdrawn feuds all reignite

Even though you all hate outright; these days of the dead

Improve not one bit, the trials ease a little overnight

So that lonely walks of life become intertwined

And one life's ending starts the dread cycle anew

Soon, not long to wait now; though fires all well-defined

Burn strongly in Hell's cold light as some strange clue

Of destiny's path, less worn and well-travelled of late

Until a fiery dawn signals the turning of the page

Into the final chapter I fling myself and to fate

A toast, in scarlet from my own, the cruel cage

Locked, the key gone -buried in shifting sand

Say goodbye to your confessors: you shan't need those so inept

Wave them away as the pages turn in your hand

And lives end and begin; though I cannot take one step.


	22. Walking Hand in Hand

We're walking together

We're side by side

Hand in hand, we wander

Walking together, until we stand

In front of a statue: grey and cold

It's of two people

A woman and a man

Their arms are linked like ours are

And their happy smiles aren't missed

Two girls are stood behind it

Laughing with ribbons in their hair

We ask them what they think of it

And they smile some more

Even though we do not

They say the statue is of love

And both of us just freeze

Slowly we lock eyes

I see understanding

And also fear

Turning back towards the children

We ask what kind of love

They frown -as if they are confused

"It's Love" they say with a shrug

Once more we're afraid, so we ask

"And what is that"

Then it's their turn

To be scared

Though it's only a little

By our ferocity

Our desperation

And as well, our sadness

Watching them closely

We ask that they answer

They reply -hesitantly- that they do not know

Then one glances

At our interlocked hands

"Do you love each other?"

One of them is asking us

I freeze

But she simply smiles then replies

"What is love?"

But the girl is looking at me now

And I'm struggling to swallow

Slowly I nod along with her

My tension unacknowledged

"Well?" she repeats

Though other girl replies to her

"They do, they really do!"

I pull away: Instantly

And then she lets go of my arm

Leaning down

Down to their level

She smiles, so gently and says:

"Yes, but not the same Love as theirs"

And all our eyes lock on the statue

Onto the cold, grey stone

We are friends

We are friends

We are friends

"But you know there are other types of Love"

"Other than that type?"

"Yes" I answer- just real quiet

My first words uttered to the pair

They turn towards me

Their gazes steady in my direction

"Like our Love"

I take her hand

Again

She squeezes it, just briefly

Then she lets it go

She lets my hand go

She let go

And I can't hide the hurt

As it flashes across my expression

But still she doesn't see

And I don't think sees me at all

The two children are called away

We are left alone

The two of us together

Just us

Except not any more

I can't meet her eyes

Because of the all half-truths

The lies

Lies that fill the space between us

She lied

I lied

We lied

And then she takes my hand

She squeezes it tightly

Like she would never let go

Like she never will

Like she never, ever let it go

But then I look up

Past her eyes

Past her

To search for the girls

The ones from before

And I see their parents go round the corner

Their children obviously in front of them

Obviously

So, they have left

They have gone

And only then does she take my hand

Again

A tug- only small

It's miniscule

But insistent and impatient

So we're wandering

Walking side by side

Until I stop

Until I let go

I remove my hand

I pull away

And she's no longer beside me

She's no longer right by my side

She's directly in front

Eyes boring holes into my skin

Into my defences

Into my secrets

Those lies

They return

But with vengeance

I say two words

Two small words

Miniscule really

Three syllables

That's all

"I'm sorry"

She's impatient

Insistent

And impossible

So, I turn

I turn away

I turn my back

Quite deliberately

And I know

I know, exactly what I'm doing

Exactly what I'm turning away from

What I'm turning my back on

It's more than a teenage girl

It's more than a friend

A good friend

A very good friend

It's also hope

It's also a future

It's all those possibilities

The potentiality of life

And of Love

And I just turn my back

Out of the corner of my eye

I watch her, as I watch

She stiffens

And a tear trails down my cheek

Then she reaches out

I see her

In my peripheral vision, I see her

As she stretches out a hand

And I don't move

Not one inch

No, not one centimetre

So, she walks away

She turns swiftly in the gravel

I hear it crunch under her

She takes one step

It's followed by another

And several more follow that one

Neither of us say a word

Not a single word

The air between us remains tense

Taut and fearful

And it's getting larger by the second

As her legs carry her on powerful strides

Further away from my back

That is still resolutely turned away

More tears have followed the first one

And I know more will follow them

Then even more will follow those that follow

Finally

When I can only just hear her steps

Her well-known steps

I turn

My eyes swiftly search

And lock onto her like target sights

Then she's out of sight

Around the corner

And I can't see her

She's gone

I can't see her

She has gone

More tears stream down my face

"What have I done"

Whispering to myself

I sink to the pedestal beside me

The cold grey stone now under me

I look up at the statue

The man and the woman

Who caused so much trouble

Who caused so much pain

"Not true"

My thoughts are whispering

"You did this"

I continue to cry

"This is all your fault"

My fault

"Your fault and no one else's

It's my fault

It's all my fault

"Excuse me"

A hand taps on my shoulder

A small one

A young one

And I look up

Into the face of one of the girls

The laughing girls

The ones with ribbons in their hair

She is looking at me, sadly

So I wipe my face

Brushing away the tears

Scrubbing the sorrow from my expression

Not well enough

Not if I look at her frown

But with a small smile

Miniscule, really

I say:

"Hello, Can I help?"

"She really does love you"

The quiet reply I cannot ignore

I start- anxious of her observation

Then I hang my head

"No, she doesn't"

But all the girl does is nod

Her head nods up and down

I shake mine once again

Then twice and three times more

"Yes she does."

The sweet child tells me again

And I can only look at my feet

Gently

Gently

She nudges against my side

"Look"

She murmurs

And slowly my head rises

Chin up

I glance at her

But she simply points away

To a well-known figure

Hurrying this way

With a few flowers clutched in her grasp

I rise

Startled

Afraid

And with a glance to the girl at my side

I take a few steps in her direction

One, two, three

Then I falter

Fear taking over, fear taking hold

I cross my arms

Hugging them against my body

As I watch her get steadily closer

My anxiety rising

As her powerful strides carry her towards me

I want to run

And I want to stay

I want to hear what she has to say

She reaches me

And reaches out a hand

It comes to rest on my folded arms

And I jerk away in response

Silent

We face each other

And she holds out the posy

Though I'm aware of the other girl joining our side

Their ribbons are shining brightly in the weak sunlight

And I cannot bear to look at their smiles

I'm staring at the ground again

As I slowly reach out my hand

It joins hers

Around the flowers

She's clutching in her grasp

Still not meeting her eyes

I take them and hold them tight

Her hand has not left mine though

Our finger intertwined

With this limb she pulls me closer

'Till her arm loops round my side

I rest my tired head on her shoulder

That well-known resting place -I remember

Lifting the dainty petals towards my face

I breathe in their gentle scent

I smile dances across my features

It's only a small one I know

Not sure if it will stay or not

The two girls both hold their breath

When at last it settles, into a decidedly lopsided grin

They both explode with cheering

As I jump and we both begin to blush

Their laughter and shouts echo all around

But no longer am I ashamed

Or afraid

As I lean into her

And just breathe in

She holds me

Close

And I feel safe

Like she will never let go again

But even though she might

And at some point- I might too

We both know this Love

This extra special Love

This special Love we share

That's ours

It will keep us safe

Together

Walking hand in hand.


	23. What it means

Do you even have a clue?

Do you know at all,

How much each quick and simple gesture

Moves me beyond words to enthral?

A single moment, held quietly in memory

A cheery 'morning' ghosts the air- so silent in your wake

A wordless wave goodbye as you drive away

Make the difference between life and death, between sleep or staying awake

The pressing dark, the eternal sleep; it calls so often: daily

But your gentle words and unconscious actions, that I remember even when I’m home

Calm me and console me and call me on, to continue this life where you roam

A small tight smile, although you are stressed, greets me if we meet

In the face of pain -I can laugh- because of a smile so small yet sweet

So can I ask you, beg you please; to continue in this way

Though I wish I could but face you and see if these actions betray

Just how much do you care, truly?

For this worthless human being

Good for nothing: I am a burden to you

So I apologise, but ask you do your duty

Keep up this act- this pretence of caring

This resemblance of a reason to live

Keep the lie living and I'll keep living too

My heart will beat, while hope is daring

But have I the strength to evict it?

In favour of the truth, despite the awful sigh

Perhaps death may be a painful truth

But you know life is a beautiful lie

And I know which one I prefer

But my question is, which do you?


	24. Easier

Why is it so hard?

To put one foot in front of the other.

Why is it so hard?

To go to bed and sleep.

Why is it so hard?

To hold my head up high,

And walk on although it hurts,

Every single day.

It should be easy,

To see my face in the glass.

It should be easy,

To hold a blade so near.

It should be easy,

To wait for someone to judge me,

Even though it happens,

Every single day.

Why is it so hard?

To love one person but not another.

Why is it so hard?

To open up a door.

Why is it so hard?

To breathe, each breath I breathe,

Each one before the next one,

Every single day.

It should be easy,

To say a word and not be hated.

It should be easy,

To laugh and smile so freely.

It should be easy,

To leave my house each morning,

Yet every single day,

Every single day,

It's hard, so hard.

Why is it so hard?

For me.


	25. Lying Senses

Eyes from the doorway, peering into my world

Watching as though shrouded in smoke

Ears from the corner, listening to conversations

Hushed tone that echo -though muffled

Hands on the table, chairs and paper

Writing, drawing, typing -covering up lies they spread

Faces frowning, disapproving and displeased

Then anxious the next moment, framed with restless worry

Snatches of discussions, words drift faintly on empty air

Subtly not removing all that unrelents which may linger there

Art and cryptic stories -created with the same limbs

Mysteries in different fonts and frames but capable all the same

Blinded, all in darkness -unaware and unprotected

No sunsets, no flowers, no features of those held within

Deaf to the soaring songbird's sweet trills

Moving through a silent world of gestures, alone

Fragile and unable -amputated or paralyzed

Which brings the biggest burden into a world already built on lies.


	26. If maybe, just maybe.

If you hate me, then just hand me a blade

I you dislike me, then watch my legs bleed

If you can't even tolerate me, even for a while

Then come and listen to my heart break

As I lose my reason for life and to smile

If you cannot stand me at all, then pass me those scissors

If I disgust you, then watch as my skin scars

If all I do is burden you, every single day

Then watch as I cry in anguish, over you

My precious shining sun's golden ray

If all you feel is hatred, Let me die tonight

If all you think is 'useless', Let me leave right now

If all you see is a failure, Let me fail no more

And free you all from this burden I have become

And be released from this life, so sore

If you tell me you love me, you must be lying

If you explain that you care, it cannot be true

If you want to trick me, once more into feeling

Then I'm sorry, but I won't be fooled again by you.


	27. Imagination

Do you know what it's like

To sit there with a blade, clean and new

Waiting, or maybe wishing

For someone to come, to stop you

Can you even imagine how it feels

To put that silvery edge to your skin

To watch as it cuts through flesh, your flesh

And the scarlet flow starts to begin

Do you have any idea what it's like

To constantly know where the nearest scissors are

And to pry at a sharpener, to smash it with a brick

To be so desperate to get that pain and the eventual scar

Can you imagine for one second, please

How lonely one must feel each day's distain

To find comfort in a sharp blade edge

And to use it against one's skin, again and again


	28. I want to say so many things

I want to say I love you

As I watch you disappear back through the door

I want to say I've missed you

When I see you again, once more

I want to tell you how much I care

About you and how I think of you when you're not near

I want to promise you that I won't lie to you

Ever again, or that I won't give up to the fear

I want to believe that you love me

And say that I love you too

I want to believe that you miss me

And say that I always miss you too

I want to believe that you care about me

Because I care about you so much

I want to believe that you don't lie to me

Though I lie to keep you in reach of my touch

Please tell me that you love me again

I do love you, I swear

Please tell me that you miss me too

I miss you whenever you're not there

Please tell me that you care about me even a little

I care about you so so much, believe me

Please tell me that you won't lie to me ever

I won't lie to you if you don't lie to me.


	29. Friendship's end

No one listens to what a friendship should be

No one cares about the friendship that may be

No one thinks about what a friendship could be

No one sees the friendship that might be

Who really hates in a friendship that's public?

Who actually loves in a friendship that's secret?

Who wants to know about a friendship of laughter;

When all anyone hears about is its conflict

True, some know the dangers of loneliness

But so few fully know it's power

Fewer still know it's burden intimately

Even less understand what it can drive you to do.


	30. Onwards

I know that old sensation

I could describe it as if you knew

For we all know of it a little

Though we deny it often too

That way of moving forward

As the whole world turns away

People always carry on, although

Perhaps they're break is due

A moment, a minute, or more - you think?

Just to pause and reflect and renew

Refuel and stock the batteries

So that come rain or sun we can resume

To tread the path of whispers

Lies so white they shine like dew

To keep ourselves protected

Maybe for each other, most of whom

We strive to please and comfort

Even while our muscles weary, our bones too

To soldier on, to keep on marching

On foot in front of the other - marking

Time until our shared pain is easing

Raw until as if slowly dying

With it all perception numbing

As we insist we're fine, as we reply 'okay'

Sunrise fades into a brand new day

Together we love, come what may

Though rain still falls on fresh-cut hay

We smile and laugh and grin and say:

Tomorrow is a new chance

That dawns like a memory upon us

We expect it, prepare for it often

But still it's arrival is fearful

Can we welcome this shy traveller

So fleeting yet impacting it's stay

Do we turn away the opportunities clutched

In its outstretched arm, in hope

I want to think not; as we dig down deep

Into unknown reserves of strength

As we persevere, as we carry on!

Like a kite in the winds of change

That drive us one, and drive us all

Together, forevermore


	31. Gas tank life

I feel... Empty.

Not anything wrong, exactly.

At least I don't think so.

I know wrong. I've been there

Done that, got the t-shirt.

But this isn't like that.

I'm fine, perfectly fine.

Until I'm not... Quite.

Strange, isn't it? How

My life seems fine,

Okay, great even.

But I still feel...

Empty? If I feel

Anything at all.

I don't like it. Feeling like that.

So I don't let myself. Mostly.

I don't sleep much - harder to process

Things when you're not entirely

Awake, nor properly functioning.

I don't really eat. Except when

I'm trying to fill that void,

Inside of me. That just sits there,

Quietly murmuring. Like a grumbling

Tummy. Or indigestion.

But not... quite. More like a black hole

Big and huge, a landmark in time and

Space. Empty, empty space.

Dark and deep, never endingly deep.

And dark. Pulling me down, down.

So I feed it. With pain and anxiety

With blood and tears, and some

Other things I'd rather not name.

But still I am empty. Hollow like a

Tree that is dying or dead.

Am I dying or dead? Not actually,

Of course, not in reality. But maybe...

Some part of me, some part that I

Only remember from my earliest years.

Is dead and gone and... Lost.

So very lost, from me. Now.

Maybe I'm like a jug, meant to be

One thing: full of water, purposeful

Useful... Doing. But spends my life

Sat still silent -dead and inactive- on

A shelf somewhere. Am I simply on

My shelf for life. Is that it? Is that why?

I feel, or rather... Don't. Feel that is.

Anything, but empty. Empty. Empty.


	32. Riding a Bike

I can ride a bike

I learnt when I was young

I remember pedalling along

Yelling for my dad to not let go

Eventually he did, he let go

Of course he did - and then I flew

I could do it on my own

No, don't roll your eyes

I didn't think I could

But he knew, he let go

And you know what

I trusted him to do so

I can drive a car - sort of

I'm learning day by day

I have proper lessons weekly

With an 'instructor' all serious

And intent. I don't have stabilisers

It might be easier if I did.

I got no training wheels or special bike

No padded patches on my elbows

Nor even thicker ones on my knees

No helmet, just 'impact' metal

To keep me safe (and her)

Only that dual control to guide me

I'm learning something different now

Something far more serious and intent

More joyous and freeing, or even safe

I've got to get it right - but here's the thing

There is no right or wrong with this

No way to get it wrong, no way to fall

No way to crash - kinda.

There's no safety net, no training wheels

Just me, out in the world. Free - just me.

No instructor (only 'how to guides')

No father's resting hand

Nor mother's home-cooked food

I'm learning to adult, you know

No smiling - I'm quite serious

To go out there and be. Just be.

Yes, to work and earn my way

And like, have a home - a place to stay

But there's no rush to get there

No hurry for me. I want to enjoy the journey

The winding cycle track in the country

Through fields, round bends and down hills

Along busy - although stressful - motorways

Past houses and businesses and factories

Watching and enjoying all the while


	33. Frozen Vacancy

I sit, passive. Silent.

Dead to the world.

And equally, myself.

_'i finally understand'_

My emotions, along with

Their friends: motivation

And awareness, leave.

I catch at them as the exit

Pulling on their arms

They drag me along for

A while, as they walk out

That door. And I am alone.

_'please don't slam the door'_

Dead, or dying. I cannot tell.

I don't not feel. I just feel

Nothing. The world is numb.

Nonexistent, like me.

_'here I'll stand and here I'll stay'_

Solitary. By choice? I stare

Out of the window. Looking

On the world like a bird from

A lonely wheeling wing.

_'let the storm rage on'_

Beyond me. Outside of me.

Distant. Seperated. Removed.

I am invisible, hidden in plain

View, unseen though many see me.

I go unnoticed, unobserved,

Isolated. I wish to feel: something.

But feeling is no better.

_'the cold never bothered me anyway'_

This is easier. I do not care.

Not by choice, never by choice.

But this way is simpler, neater

Calmer. No, not calmer. Stiller.

Is that even a word?

_'sometimes I like to close my eyes'_

The world seems different, from

Behind a closed door.

A door slammed in my face.

Never to open again?

I feel trapped, if that's something

-Something to feel- then

_'people don't really change'_

I'm silent. Motionless. Always...

Time slows beyond my perception

And I am alone, forever. And ever.

Treacle? Some kind of sticky

Cloying substance that drains

My already limited energy and

Turns all my movements sluggish.

My limbs feel heavy, I cannot move.

I cannot feel, I cannot move,

I cannot breathe. Suffocated.

_'you don't have to keep your distance anymore'_

I am sinking, in a bog. Sinking sand.

Drowning, air limited, space minimal.

There's a rope, thrown to me.

Lobbed over great distances,

Of tomorrow to today. I grasp it

Grab it with both hands

Hold it tight like I will never

Ever let go. Not in a million years

Not in forever. A way out.

A path in the fog, air clearing.

Mind strengthening as I

Increase my grip.

_'for the first time in forever'_

I haul myself along. Bodily

On the ground, dragging my mind

The emotions and their pals

By their heels - those old Achilles-

And fighting to be free. To feel,

To stand, to talk, to walk,

To breathe. I am alive.

I think? I hope.

_'at least I've got a chance'_


	34. Past meet Present and his fiancé Future

Past meet Present, I introduce them

And Present meet Past, they shake

I lead them on, to Future where she waits

Present hurrying eagerly, ahead of me

And my own fast-paced steps, Past drags

His heels and whines, complaining

Replaced by the fiancé and the Future

Future embraces Past in welcome

Tossing a brief kiss to the cheek of Present

In consolation, like I would toss a stick to

A puppy to keep him busy and distracted

While Future performs - her dance of satisfaction

\- Luring in Past to sit at the table. Dinner

Is served for Present she beckons, as

Welcomed again (now that Past has been

Dealt with) Present perks up, much like

The puppy I mentioned, and yet another stick

Is lobbed in his direction, as Future seats herself

In the most prominent position. The head of the table.

Mistress of all. She orders Present to kneel on the floor.

And then, only then, does the feasting begin.

As the pair gobble up all the best bits of Him. He lays

On that table, knocked out but awake; as they consume

His heart and stomach leaving only hollow remains

And a bad taste in the mouth, that sour and bitter fruit.

Illicit and deadly, banned for all those like you.


	35. Peace to all

This moment, right here, is peaceful

I want to remember it for the rest of my days

The air is still, weighted but not oppressive

The sun burns high in the cool blue sky

I watch it through the window, from between

A crack in the blinds, that shift and float on the breeze

We're reading, working gently, smoothly, calmly

Sat alone but together, on a table and two benches

The surface not quite smooth and a pale watery grey

The blind lifts on a gust to but against our heads

Stroking our hair and nudging our shoulders

The silence is broken with stern words

As it's put back in its place, once again

Only to emerge sooner or later in the day

Someone goes to the water fountain, quietly

Not stirring the air any more than a whisper

They fill up their bottle with chill clear water

The gurgling from its passage fills my ears

The click of a pen and the turn of a page

The tap on a keypad or two, and the slurping

Gulp as someone sips from a bottle or icy can

It chinks slightly at it's placed back down

On contact with the table, it greets it solemnly

My book placed face down, it's pages spread

Its large donated title stares up at me

Wide eyed, uncomprehending. It's contents beckons

And draws me in. I indulge myself once more

I turn, rearrange myself to face the room

My back to the wall and the window above it

Mirroring my friend on the other side on the table

We both read, our heads bent over our novels

Earnest and intent on the stories within them

The words dance through our minds

And though they may not linger, it is my hope

That this afternoon will, for a long time to come

The vending machine starts up its routine again

Humming away to itself as it cools that which it guards

Another click of a pen, the tapping that goes with it

All simple screaming of procastination at its best

The table shifts as someone stands, stretches

Then moves off on some errands or mission

Silently, without a word offered in explanation

As none really is required, for any of us

Who sit here, quiet, peaceful, calmly gently working

Reading, to our heart's content. Safe and secure

For we have worked hard enough to warrant this

We have earned it with our toils prior to now

Earned a break, earned a rest. Earned this afternoon

For relaxation, for reading. To sit with our backs

To the window, to the sun and the breeze and

The blue blue sky. To just be, and to read

And right now, in this moment: all is at peace.


	36. When is a cut, not a cut

A cut isn't a cut unless it scars

Unless it heals slowly, arduously

And means weeks of paranoia

Weeks of wearing long sleeves

Constantly - even at night

Because anything can happen during sleep

A cut isn't a cut unless it bleeds

So it beads up in a red dotted line

Like the dashed line for a signature

To be blotted away with a soft tissue

Making distorted patterns as if with red ink

But purer, and yet fiercer, all the same

A cut isn't a cut unless it stings sharply

As sharp a pain as the blade that makes it

Shocking and shudderingly gasp-worthy

Like a blast of icy air into a nicely heated room

A pain that is the entire point - initially

That proves it's point each time, and again

A cut isn't a cut unless you regret it

At one point in time, or other - that guilt

That goes hand in hand with long sleeves of concealment

The self-beration that causes it's own unique agony

And the desperate fear and unshakable certainty

That it will all happen all over again,

and again


	37. Life-ring

I struggle towards the surface,

With a splash and a rush of water:

I'm free. But now I'm not, now I struggle

To float, you'd think that after nearly

Drowning, I could swim. Apparently not.

I flounder out of my depth, throwing

About my limbs -generally making a mess.

A crash of waves, another swell of the sea

I'm all alone, I'm struggling to breathe.

Surely someone will be looking, they'll

Notice I'm gone. Surely, surely - I'm free.

Air, precious, precious air: I never knew

How much you meant to me, before. Now.

This has been an experience, a learning

Curve. Sure, sure. But let it be over. Is the

Struggle finished? My energy is fading

My efforts failing. I am beginning to sink.

Breathe, breathe: The surface rises above me

I fall, I fall and fall. Or do I sink.

The momentum is the same, of course

But still, it makes no difference to me

Help me, help me! How can you not see?

I am drowning! Far out at sea, I sink down

Down and down. Help me please. Don't let

This be my last ever memory, of hopeless

Lethargic paddles and weak strokes, up

Towards the light and the air and, and, and...

Arms under me, drag me up out of darkness

Heave me to the shore, onto solid reliable

Masses. The earth never felt so strong, so

Sturdy. The world never seemed so good

Nor alive... I am alive? I search for my saviour

Where is that kind soul, who saw, who saw...

Me. Where did they go? Can I not thank them?

Or did they leave... Have they gone, too? So I

Stare out across the raging, roaring - beckoning-

Sea. The ocean waves, hello, I say: I cannot breathe.


	38. Writing it out

1- I'm still hurting myself

2- It's a part of the same twisted cycle,

Of act... Regret, build-up, act

3- Its still something that worries people

Which means 4- I still have to hide

So 5- I have to wear long sleeves

In early summer but not June or July

But

1- It does no real damage

2- Mere bruises (contained and controlled)

3- They fade (important one here)

Leave no scars, no permanent imprint

No thin lines of failure littering my skin

Just bruises, contained and controlled

That leave, that fade, that go - no more scars

4- It stills hurts (this may sound crazy I know)

But I need the pain (that keeps you trapped?)

So 5- Can bring relief (instant delicious stinging relief)

This also sounds sick I'm sure

But to explain would go off track, so let's

Move onto 6- Is defined (another weird one)

Important is the shape of the matter

Blobby burns or pinpricks of blood

Are not comparable at all to the sweet solace Found in a miriad of straight (rigidly so) lines

This achieves that goal, soothes that need

7- Quicker 8-Cleaner 9-Safer Three in a row

No blood... No need for tissues

No need for antiseptic clean up crews

No trying to carry round a blade

(That is in fact illegal)

Nor any of the other excessive items

Required for safe acquisition of sanity

(If momentarily)

10- (Important but somewhat dangerous)

Easier to hide, to conceal and therefore do

11- Can do in the open, no need to hide

Quick and easy, just under the table

Pull up the sleeve and go ahead

Never caught, super subtle...

(But is this good or bad)

12- (handy and somewhat neglected)

They don't ache for hours on end

Nor are they sore or liable to bleed

For all of the next day, they do not trouble me

Only there when I need, and so

13- The effects last (an underrated essential)

It must be economical (strange as it seems)

Each act must have significant enough effect

Or else the act itself is not worthwhile

Even without the excess and all the mess

Even without weeks of hiding and cloying long sleeves

Even without the overly lasting pain and sting

They must do the job for which I do the thing

I have to decide (soon)

Before others make the decision for me

Should I go ahead...

With something better in every way

How can 5 cons possibly outweigh

13 pros to carry on straight away

Does some other part of me

(That thinks it knows better)

Cry out through the haze to tell me I never

Need to do this again, I don't need

To do this, again... Again I fall into the trap

I embrace the pros, ignore the cons

And just don't look back.


	39. Relapse

I catch sight of them in the mirror

So many raised, red and angry lines

Stark against pale and long-healed skin

They could be steps, if more varied

Or maybe sooner bumps, if more spaced

To me they are an army advancing

Marching steadily along my wrist

A Roman legion, a phalanx of scarlet

That tramps along my arm

Following the rivers of blood within.

They sting as the water hits them

Warm water, I hoped would soothe

Instead, unapologetic, they sharply sting

As if sliced and bleeding freshly new

They will fade and heal, with time

And more warm -unsoothing- water

I resent how they will leave me though

To become scars invisible to most

But for now they simply bloat and swell

In healing fluence, after this shower is done.

They are clean, not quite new and still neat

Before scabs and scars replace them

Cleaned, with stinging that rivals the cutting

To remove the black dried mess of old blood

Flaking, it comes off in flecs and as dust

Clogging my nose with its harsh scent

I shan't bandage them, or even cover

They need to breathe and rest, they say

Or they would if ever someone saw them

My eyes alone witness this weakest of strengths.

My sleeves raised, tucked up, rolled

Forearms bared in contrasts

One arm healed scars lie pale and numb

Where shadows and memories intertwine

The other a riot of visible colour

Strong yet still weaker than the other

Here I bare them, I bear them solemnly

See them, drink them in, and revel in the lines

Before other gazes can worriedly veiw

I close them off, and put my failures away.


	40. Getting Reacquainted

Welcome old friend

Well, old acquaintance

_Get away enemy, fiend, demon_

It's been a while

It really has, hasn't it

_Leave me alone, I beg you_

How've you been

Well, I hope

_Please, why can't you leave me be_

Listen I was wondering

Maybe could you...

_Get away, demon_

Come back another time

Perhaps, I'm afraid -

_I don't want you here_

I'm rather busy just now

Another time? Yes, yes

_Go, go! Leave me in peace_

You want to stay?

Hang out for a while

_I was just fine, I did just fine_

Well, if you want

If you insist

_I did okay, without you_

Okay, if you want to sit

No? Oh, well then

_I don't need you, not anymore_

Well I'll just, be over here

Are you comfortable?

_Maybe I did once, once_

You may be here a while, eh?

That's fine, I guess

_But not now! Not now._

Can I get you anything?

Yes... Oh, I didn't realise.

_Please leave me alone._

If that's what you want

I suppose I could, maybe

_I don't need you, I don't want you_

Just this once, mind

Of course, well go ahead

_No, no, no, no. Please!_

I'm sorry, it's just, it's

It's been a while, okay?

_It hurts! I know it does, you can't fool me_

Sorry, sorry. I know, I shouldn't...

Ow! Right, I'll just...

_You can't trick me, not anymore_

Please, could you just let up

I don't, yeah, I'm sorry

_Let me go! I don't want to._

I'm not used to it, yeah, sorry

Just give me a minute

_I know I don't want to, how can you..._

Just a minute, I swear to you

I just gotta breathe, alright?

_How? You convince me, every time_

Please, please no. I just want a break

Please, I'm not used to it

_And yet, I know. I know the truth now_

Fine. There you are. Old acquaintance.

But only because we're old friends

_I owe you! Really, pull the other one_

I owe you, yeah, but after this

No more, okay. Please.

_Fiend! Leave me be! You can't have it._

You okay? I know, I'm sorry. I'll do better.

Yes, yes, give me a minute?

_Why? Why, why do you want to..._

Well if you insist, oh, okay.

Ow, sorry, I know I know.

_Stop it, stop it! Please. I can't..._

Let me go, okay? I just want to,

I've got stuff to do. I'm busy.

_You have to go, you need to leave_

I'm busy! I'm stressed?

Yes of course I'm stressed

_Please leave. I don't want this._

Hey! No more! No more, not again.

You don't need this, neither do I

_My enemy, old enemy, my oldest..._

I don't need this. No, listen to me!

I don't need this! I don't need...

_Enemy. Hello again. Welcome._

Need you! I don't! Let me go!

Leave off now, you can't!

_Yes, I've been well, how're you?_

You can't have any more.

No more! Go away!

_Yes, yes, I know. I was trying..._

No more. I need you to leave

That's all I need from you

_Trying... To forget, to leave you behind_

That's all I require, I don't

I don't need you, I don't!

_I should go, I shouldn't..._

Go, go, go, go. I don't want you here

I'm different now, I'm better

_Why are you here? Why come?_

Better off without you. I swear

Don't laugh, don't! I'm serious

_You can't do this, you can't just..._

I don't need you, I don't want you either

You should go. No!

_No! Leave me alone! Let me have peace!_

I want you to go! Please, please, go.

My old friend - I can't.

_Peace, peace at last. I want it so much._

Old acquaintance, goodbye, go now

Go, and leave me to my peace

_Peace in mind and body alike_

Peace; from you and your...

Thirst and your hunger, I don't want you

_Leave me to my peace, eternal peace_

You can't have it, no! No! You won't!

Not this time, not ever again.

_Enemy, demon, you will leave! Now._

Friend, be my friend no longer

Acquaintance, reacquainted, farewell.

Myself. The world, it's woes, to you I say:

_Goodbye, goodbye a thousand times over_

You leave me, better. I am better without you.

_I don't need you anymore._


	41. Sleeves

A strange criss-cross pattern of raised skin

Etched as a carving into cool flesh

A dangerous piece of artwork only in bright crimson

Turned into itching black brown of scabbing

Only to fade to pale lines ingrained in

Yet beneath the long grey sleeves

A lingering stinging, a sensation known all too well

Latched onto the dark memory

Of holding sharp edges against shadowed wrists

Gripped by the screaming agony once again

As colourless fabric rustles against a cruel poem that was made in hell

All beneath the long smooth sleeves

Gently the material is lifted, pulled upwards and across

Exposing the dubious beauty, that's been there all along

Inside the mind, recently brought to the outside world

Scarlett of blood dried in grooves so carefully crafted

To form the letters necessary to spell

Out the words of hatred, remembered- never forgot

Though beneath the long grey sleeves


	42. The body of an Archaeological dig

The body is a site of great destruction

Purposeful, wanton, horrific destruction

In the past, that's certainly the hope

Not long past at all, but definitely past

And now it lies, solid for now, somewhere

In the ground. Cold but still with purpose.

One day they will dig it up, and find it there

Lying passive to their comings and goings

Helpless still, so nothings really changed

Just no breath, no air stirs while the eyes

Stare upwards. Unfaltering for the first time.

Hands chill in twisted claws, frozen and timeless

They'll trace all the marks and 'lesions'

That decorate the bare skin and soul

The scars and wounds unhealed and healing

And count the bruises from head to baby toe

They'll measure the length of each cut and slice

Categorising by depth and width the extent of damage

Inflicted by who? As the database of injuries progresses

And the theories and musings take flight

Into the air on boundless wings, the ideas

The potentials and wonderings are set free

Names for things more commonplace than air

Are bandied about, like a tennis ball in a game of catch

Getting more and more technical, in Latin and Greek

The intellectual property expands and deflates

As the debate kicks up a pace and the documenting

Comes to an end. It's natural conclusion

Some might say, still the arguments are passed

Round and round, it's enough to make a person

Dizzy. Spinning webs of confusion along with doubt

Over the body, that still cold dead body

Found in the ground about 2 miles south

And though it all ends and it's packed away

The body moved elsewhere, to fire or to grave

The discussions finally ended, just drift to a finale

As the marks and scars and bruises become

Mere words on a page. Listed in columns,

Their dimensions like a shadow by their side

And the trowels and spades and brushes

And dusted off and put away, waiting for the

Next time: a body is found in Suicide Glade.


	43. Beach Alone Time

They've all gone off and left me

I don't really mind

It's sort of late and getting later

But the sun is still quite high

The waters are gently lapping

Soothing music to my ears

The breeze is cool and softly stroking

My arm, my feet, my cheek

The lulling light catches in the ripples

Of undulating ocean just over there

It spreads it, increases it, illuminates the air

There are birds all about the water

Perched on rocks overlooking that sea

The cliffs in the distance, yet close to me,

Are probably filled with their offspring and wives

They glide in the air, lighter than the clouds

Fluffy and ghostly that form their backdrop

To vast and spectacular aerial displays

Of fluttering, flapping candor

The lullabye of the ocean, it's whispers in my ear

Remind me of those moments I cherish

When I am held close and tenderly

Until my slumber is quite clear

The water guides me sleepside

Into ever deeper and quieter reverance

All for the natural maturnal parent

And childhood's ever present friend...


	44. Walk a mile in my shoes

My life is different, complicated, strange

_Step_

At least that's how it might seem

_Step_

To you, an outsider, stranger, unknowing one

_Step_

So let me take to opportunity, now

_Step_

To try, my very best, to explain - just a little

_Step_

My life is so very treacherous and filled with deception

Self-deception and betrayal of myself, I might add

_Step_

Everyday I lie to myself, and trick myself into peace

To be frank, if I didn't, I would be dead and buried

_Step_

Well not dead exactly, definitely gone, but just...

I would not be here, now, to tell you this, so...

_Step_

You see the thing that makes my life so strange

To you, and to them and often, to me as well

_Step_

Is I find myself walking a bridge, it's very high

And very unstable, and the slightest thing

_Step_

And I mean, the SLIGHTEST thing, can... Trip me

And then I fall - though not necessarily - I have not ever fallen

_Step_

Yet. But you see here's where it gets difficult to comprehend

Because these things that trip me, and knock me flat

_Step_

Might seem the slightest, most insignificant thing

To you, but you are not me and I am not you

_Step_

So take a walk in my shoes: try not to stumble too much

It's absolutely terrible for the seams and soles

_Step_

A little thing, so small, so pale and faded.

Like an old scar, I wander across one time

It's white and simple but so so significant

To me, my brain and those ever tripping feet

_Step_

Or on occasion, I find, instead; a folded up

Tissue, tucked away somewhere, wedged

Holding onto old stains, dark and crusty with age

Far longer than my body takes to replace it

_Step_

What's often the most obvious, and therefore

Easy to understand, is when I find some

Forgotten sharpener, it's original use long since displaced

It's casing holds empty air, the hole is screwless

_Step_

Do you see now?

Please tell me that you understand.

_Step_

How I keep both my feet on the ground,

Is this logical for you, does it make sense?

_Step_

Because, no matter what, I know that

I can only keep up the pretense so long

_Step_

Before I trip, before I'm triggered and the shot

_Step_

That is waiting to be fired, with minimal aim

_Step_

Unnecessary for its purpose, is released

_Step_

And that bridge, you walked side by side with me

_Step_

Becomes the moment of my greatest treachery

_Fall_


	45. I Wandered

I wandered lonely as a cloud

My feet taking me where they wished

They led me to a world of stones

That guarded the home of infinity

My gaze wandered over their words

The when and who they shielded

From those simple phrases formed

My own short passage for such time

As everlasting rest comes as rewarded

And my deepest sleep becomes eternal

Such words came as comfort to me

Whilst wintry wind ripped through that place

Mine eyes did water, as a result -not

At all, due to the reminder of mortality-

For "Like the sunset on a summer's day,

She gently and pecefuly faded away."

I wonder -I cannot help- how and why they sleep

Under what foreordained circumstances

They last breathed in deep

These stones that mark their slumber long

Have worn and eroded though they remain

Until this day and icy morning

To now, as the frames below are dozing

And I wander -lonely- over their earthy beds

As I contemplate their constant rest

My eyes catch and linger on one stone

Placed there stiffly many decades ago

I read -detailed on its grainy face-

A name and dates, over whom it stands

Guarding, from the dog-walking passerby

So I realise what I already know

That they prayed over them

As they laid them down, low

To rest, in heavenly eternal arms

But in order to mark a life since done

The stones are heaved under the sun

To shield their heavy dreamless sleep

And guide those after, gently down to meet

Their own end and careful moving on

With peace, and poetry carved upon

Those stones gathered above them here

As we wander quiet and choose to hear

Their long-lost words of silent advice

That guide us on into dark nights

For: "Christ will gather in his own

Asking not if we can spare them

If he asked us we should say

Lord we love them, let them stay."


	46. Shadows

I have shadows on my skin;

Left likes smudges of dirt or mascara

But as they sink deeper in

Farther than I could have known

They create shadows all of their own

Some are hard to see, others not so much

They all tell stories that I don't want told

There are so many shadows, lying under my skin

Whispers of moments left out in the cold

Painting a picture, describing a scene

Of when the shadows were not quite as old

These shades lie forever in my flesh

Left there by moments of weakness

Remaining through endless scrubbing

No ordinary dirt or grime clings on

As beyond my skin it waits and lingers

Entertwining round my heart -all through

my veins- it hangs on and whispers

These shadows are imprints of thoughts come to life

I am branded hesitantly by moments of strife

Reaching into the future, reaching into now

They twine around my arms and legs and heart

Echoing every second that passes, in my brain

Until many more shadows are made, until nothing remains

Time is a cruel master, thats screams out it's orders

Mean fingers that poke and prod, until each memory resounds

With a sharp jab as a reminder -unnecessary as ever-

But provided so freely by the tyrant, the watcher

Forever is longer than I thought, it always is

Tomorrow they'll still be there, and every day after this

Will I never escape those shadowed thoughts, emotions, voices

And will those shadows only fade in my dark memory


	47. Mirrored

I look in the mirror and who do I see?

I see a stranger staring back at me.

I stare at the mirror and what do I see?

Some other life that's exactly the same

But really how can this be?

My life is mine how can others remain

I look in the mirror and who do I see?

I see a stranger staring back at me.

I stare at this stranger who recognises me

How can she know me, how can she know?

She's looking beyond my skin, into my soul

Changing her perception where others may just go

I look in the mirror and who do I see?

I see a stranger staring back at me.


	48. Dystopia

Tell me what to do in future

Tell me where to go as well

Tell me what to think -whatever-

The way I know you will.

Construct a life that's what you need

Not want nor wish on people

Form structure out of chaos please

Create meaning through cruel means

Regimented and orderly:

This is required of me now

And of all the rest, like soldiers

Fast paced, they walk the same way

You control what I do and say

You control thinking- or at least think you do

You control what I feel; maybe, sometime never,

As I'm sure with time and power, you'll achieve

An all encompassing command

The reins of freedom held onto tight

Never once consider letting them free

To tumble and crumble into the ashes

Forgive me my remarks of anger

Treat them as frustrations

Forget my acts of rebellion

And think of them as juvenile

View my brain as only a think tank

For your use and for your pleasure

View my body as a vessel

To bring life or death -whichever

There is method in your madness

To this wild hope I still cling

There has to be a reason though

While more and more become accepting

Please tell me what to do each morning

Please order me around like a dog, untrained

Please command my every waking hour

Please control every moment of the day

You've convinced me -You've assured me

That all done is good and right

You tell me to just trust you

Rather than jump to opposing the fight

The enemy is mankind set free

Whether in thought or word or deed

We strive to stop the danger

That's what you tell us to believe

So stop those tempting thoughts of yours

Join others in numbing their response

Become a mindless drone of obedience

Resist the vicious and heartless of thoughts

Now gag up those hotly spoken words

Shouted in earnest in the street

Or muttered with almost equal fervour

Under the breath between the bread and beans

Also bind the hand that strikes the weaker

Restrain the bully and bouncer both

Violent while also tender actions

Turned away and now revoked

Today is only this day, now

But tomorrow's a brand new start

To fix this mess we call sweet home

And to reinvent life with peace at heart

How would you become that tyrant?

Many would never believe the truth:

That trusting in the everyday ordinary

Can seem outrageous to someone new

Maybe it's not a future worth having

Maybe to stay alive would be a harsher fate

Maybe tomorrow's problems should be ours -only

Or maybe we think much about our final resting place...


	49. Words

I want to float away: on an ocean of whispered words

As paradoxical proclamations make up the sky

I drift below in a boat made of a lyrical lullaby

I want to float far: beyond a horizon of sleepy sighs

Into a daydream of quiet questions, echoing

Through a mist of rhythmic remarks, flowing

I want to float on music: a song written with veiled vows

To create a melody, as pure and as true

As the ancient affirmations from which they grew

I want to float on a breathless breeze: I want to fly!

Within cold clouds constructed from caustic comments

Amongst the sweeping gulls of silence, though momentary mumbles resound in their brains

I want to float on wind: on the back of racing remarks

That muddle and jostle the insults and boasts

And confuse the running of gibbering ghosts

I want to live forever: and die

In the embrace of imparted implications

Their jovial tune may ring in my actions

From their learning till they are forgotten.


	50. The fateful domestic

Can you long for something impossible

And really ever hope it's there

Waiting in your future for you

To realise it is ready, to only meet it's stare

Maybe in my fate and long awaited 'destiny' Intertwined and woven with so many

I may find myself at a table

That has seated at it: my family

A wife or a husband, a baby - girl or boy

The happy picturesque ideality

I know it cannot happen, nor ever really be

Except in my head, in my mind and memory

Along with all my other dreams

Of being young and alive and free

To long for a family - that domesticity

To love and be loved, cannot be unique to me

Perhaps some others muse and ponder

Not just at their irrefutable predestined fate

Out of theirs hands, what can their plans

A difference; ever hope to make

But also with hope and wistful prayers

Do they look forward in yearning to life

Life for the living, life for the losing

Life; once it really gets going - without brakes

I long for that distant horizon

So far away, yet so seemingly near

I want a family of my own: devising and career

To nurture and to cherish, to worry of how to lose

To be a part of, to complete me

Without some heavy burden laid

By work and jobs and the tediousness

Of life lived without dreams' filtered lens

I want it sooo much, can it ever be here!

So I yearn nor long nor pine, no longer

Free to be: to love and be loved

Oh can my heart's desire come to me!

But I must go out and look for it

Not just blindly sit by and wait

Life's out there for the taking

I must not rely of fate.


	51. A Christman Morning

Have you ever been awake, early Christmas morning And you're waiting -counting down even-

For seven o'clock, when you can get up?

Perhaps you have, but not like I have.

When you're counting down over 90 minutes

Because it's actually close to half five

And you've been up all night.

And you're not counting down because you're excited

Quite the opposite, you're so wrapped up in

Your thoughts that you don't even notice the time.

And that's the danger.

See, you become so trapped

Your thoughts intertwining into an cage that

Holds you fast, so its unbreakable- inescapable.

And you're waiting for the start of the day

For the seven o'clock that means day is here

That means the dark of the night time is ending. You're not counting down for Christmas Day

You're waiting for another day to begin.

Any day: you just want it to start.

In this wasteland of a middle ground

In the transition of night to day. Early morning,

When the awake flounder in a turbulent sea of Relentless thinking, ruthless in its choice of targets.

Because you're counting, actively counting, numbers-

One after the other- whispering them under your Breath so as not to disturb the others around you, That are getting their peaceful, luxuriant rest.

Counting to waste time, to use it up.

Purposely forcing it's passage, from seconds to Minutes and minutes into hours.

Just to keep your thoughts at bay

Just to keep those dangerous thoughts in line.

There's a single string of rope, rather short and rather thin.

You're twisting it about your fingers. Anxiously Moving it around, demanding your muscles to keep Moving, to stay focused on their actions; to ever Prevent their straying. Until they gently- hesitantly- Find themselves stroking their unsteady way

Along the multitude of scars that litter your skin.

Have you ever done these things, thought these thoughts?

Felt the echoing numb as you wait for someone- Anyone to make contact, to force you to be here

Be present, be alive.

I'm counting, chanting the numbers

The murmur of one barely ending

Before the ringing of the next.

Loud into the silence the echoes dance.

Thoughts are so disjointed, jumbled and chaotic. Words flicker half-formed in my head

Like a crowded street they scramble to remain

In the light of the lamps, away from the shadows of the gutter.

And so I write. Poem after poem, until a dozen

Are started and half that are complete.

Forming structure and pattern out of disorienting chaos.

Using time - wasting time? Waiting for it to pass by.

Because I'm counting.

Counting to guard against the shadows

Both in reality and my mind.

Crying too.

Crying just to tire myself, so that maybe I can sleep For the first time in days. Crying because it's better Than thinking. Maybe. I'm crying for the day

Gone by, the day that's been wasted. I cry for this day To come, that will probably be wasted too. I cry for all My past days and all my future days, however few or However many remain. And I cry for others past days, For their struggles: their triumph's and their defeats. And I pray too.

But once again I'm counting.

Its creeping closer, number after number

Indistinguishable murmur after indistinguishable

Murmur, mumbling until my lips can hardly form the words.

Am I alone in this.

This unreasonable terror and deadly numbing.

Am I alone in saying I am afraid for tomorrow

More than I am for today.

Have you done these things: have you?

Because I have done them; I do, do them

And it almost kills me. Year after year.

And in one thing -one thing only- I am certain;

That these things: these thoughts, these deeds

And these feelings.

They will finish me.


	52. Inescapable

They will always be there - that is my view

Wtaching me, looking over my shoulder, judging

That's just how it is for me, that is how I see it

They will always follow me - wherever I go

I cannot escape their whispered voices and mocking

Their laughter echoes through every moment

Whereever I go, whenever it seems I am free - they follow me

They will always hate me - no matter what I do

I can change my hair, my clothes, my voice my words

Even my thoughts, opinions and preference in life

But they will _always_ hate me...


	53. Let us pretend to be human

Let us pretend to be human

Like we have bones and blood and lungs

With hearts that beat out life's relief

And muscles that contract and extend

Let us pretend to be human

With a mind like a engine whirring

A brain that never sleeps nor falters

Unless rebelling emotions interfere

Let us pretend to be human

And walk where no other creature walks

Through cities and streets, houses and schools

Fly in the sky or float on the sea

Let us pretend to be human

And think beyond the simple

To recongise ourselves in a mirror

And theorise and philosophise forever

Let us pretend to be human

Because what else are we to do

Walk like apes and eat like monkeys

Use our fingers and thumbs

Let us pretend to be human

And immerse in our civility

We have culture like no other

Art, music, dance and literature

Let us pretend to be human

No matter what they say

Delve into our every thought and word

Begin again and be born anew

Let us pretend to be human

Instead of what we truly are

Betray our blood and bones

Turn away from culture and the civil

Let us pretend to be human

Fall from the sky and sink in the sea

Forget fire and tools and opposable thumbs

Revert back to our earliest design

Let us pretend to be human

For is that truly who we are

Use our minds like treadmills

Burn up emotions and memories

Let us pretend to be human

And live beyond our means

Fly out there somewhere distant

To far off stars and midnight days

Let us pretend to be human

When we meet our cousins and neighbours

To show our best side - not true colours

As we settle in cities and streets

Let us pretend to be human

In houses and schools of a different world

Breathing air with lungs not ideal

Hearts beating blood in outer space


	54. Past Tense

We are ships that cross in the night

Your face I see standing beside me

When I gaze at night in my mirror

Cataloging bruises and scars on skin

Our photos hidden away but treasured

Clutched to my chest whenever they see

The light of day - stroked lovingly

As I would your hair, if you were here

Familiar words in your voice I hear

Like a childhood friend, like a part of the family

Like heart, lungs, brain - they reverberate me

All through my memories, deep into my emotions

Wiping away my scars and taking away my blade

Shining a beacon to guide my way

My precious lighthouse on a stormy eve

Safely we drift to the shore

By the dawn we sit, intwined on the beach

And you rest your head on mine

As we watch the gale blow in

Removing all signs of a storm

All marks on the cliffs and debris in the surf

A clean sheet - to wrap up in with you

And so we do


	55. I am that I am.

I'm queer but they tell me I'm asexual

I'm a Christian but they say he's not there

I'm a cutter and they order me to stop it

I'm depressed and they don't know I'm there

I'm anxious but they say it's all in my head

I'm worthless but they try and convince me I'm not

I'm unstable as hell and they don't know it

I'm suicidal -in tendency- but won't lose the plot

I'm autistic they tell me, but I no longer care

I'm tired, always tired so I tell them that too

I'm giving up -I can feel it- and they say I'll be okay

I don't know who I am any more, if ever I did

As a queer, that's fine by me

I have my label fitted

I know it, within me

I am that not different

As a Christian I do believe

In a God almighty, lord on high

Who loves me- perhaps

But through whom all is created

As a cutter I bleed a lot

On far too often a basis

And whenever that's not happening

I fight with those urges and rages

Depressed I am down, low and blue

Like an inverted sky witholding it's hue

Anxious I fret, over the petty and pointless

Stressed and unapologetic, I panic unheeded

Worthless I know it, regardless of conviction

Others show in their act to preserve my adhesion

Unstable for certain, I carve words into my arm

Proving my instability, along with addiction

I'm suicidal, yes, often and calmly, if that can be accepted

In the back of my mind, there's always that solution

Of the drastic and permanent variety

I realise, but still now it lingers

I'm autistic, that's recent, at least the diagnosis

That's what they tell me, trying to categorise my faults

Find a box that fits, if not most or all but enough

To allow my labelling, of my self by outsiders who don't know me

And through all this I'm tired, sometimes I don't wonder

How can I not be, when my existence seems a blunder

I wish I could accept who I am, every part of me

But how can I live a life, where my reflection doesn't reflect me

I'm tired and bewildered and somehow still alive

Despite all the misgivings and strife

I find myself peace, and comfort if I may

In the hope for another, that may come my way

Not human, surely, to cope even a second

With this mess of a person, so errored and broken

I wish, how I wish, that I could be something worth notice

To exist and be a little more than pieces

Of a puzzle, to be solved, to be fixed

Why must identity come in little bits

A realisation there, a medical opinion here

Fragments of a person, not whole or even partial

I am who I say I am

Not who you say I am

We are who we are

Not the sculptures of cold-

Hearted strangers, onlookers from a distance

Instructing, disconnected in stance

While we wander, unaffected it seems

From the labours to tug at our seams

I am queer, just as I am Christian

While each juxtaposes the next

I am a cutter and still unstable

And each leads the other to itself

I am depressed, I am anxious

Both together is simply like hell

I am worthless- and invisible too

And so I am suicidal, are you even surprised?

I'm autistic if I dare to be, and maybe if I care

And I'm tired, so so tired that I what I want isn't there

To give up, a pipe dream, I'm too busy right here

Right now, living this life I am able to lead

Living as me, and my identity

Whoever that may be


	56. Apart from the whole

It feels like... There's something missing

Almost as if... There's something wrong

There's a quiet voice in the back of my mind

Whispering practically constantly today

Just a nudging niggling feeling

Persistent though I dissuade and proclaim

It's not real - it's all in my head

Yet the thoughts keep on calling, it's true

There's just... Something not quite right

My arm in my sleeve is too smooth and clear

It brushes painlessly, calmly against the fabric

The slick material sliding unresisted

There's no sharp sting, no burn if I prod it

No cuts, no healing wounds, no seeping blood

I have no blades in my pocket nor

Hidden inside my pen. I carry no

Emergency tissues or antiseptic wipes

No old blood-blotted toilet paper

Squashed into the dirty depths of my bag

I'm not... While - without them

I look at my wrist and only see

White paleing lines - only visible to me

In a special light: at the right angle

And brightness, and because they

Are only half there - brought fully

Into reality due to my own fading memory

Of when the skin was littered with angry 

Red lines - a lattice of bloody choices

I have no more to make - I will not take

A chance with the blade in my sharpener

At home, in a drawer, wrapped in tissues

Forevermore. 


	57. What words to use?

How can I explain all that you do for me

Quiet, simple and ultimately kind 

Things you say and do, go unnoticed 

Even by yourself - let alone any others -

So can I (may I) take this moment, please

To declare my unending gratitude however extreme

In the only way I know how, in poetry

And list for you the ways you make my life sing

First of all, I just have to do this orderly

So I'll start with the simplest action there can be

A smile. So small, and yet so meaningful utterly

Despite its sweet, overlooked nonchalance

Then: a short word - or 'phatic expression'

Of morning or hello or whatever 

Just a greeting, unspecialised and impersonal

Effective and welcoming no matter the weather

Next I think I'll have to be a little more serious

And honestly explain what an impact you make

With your help in every single line of every single essay

Patiently (mostly) guiding my wording over pages

Now to round things off, let's be more optimistic

And show you exactly what your poke and prod tactics 

Do: so crystal clearly, leaving no chance, no room

For my doubting, however fervently, of the fact

That - in fact - you do actually care.

Somehow.


	58. To feel or not to feel; that is the question.

Feel:

It hurts,

I'm not sure what.

I'm never sure what.

But something, somewhere

Inside of me, is hurting.

Or stressing, or worrying

Invisibly but so so strongly,

And I can't stop it.

I've got no control

Over it, over any of it

I'm afraid of my fear

And I'm afraid of fearing it.

Spirals of ever darker emotions

Drag me deeper into the depths

Of my despair or anxiety or

Just pure frustration,

At myself and my emotions.

How they control me

Not I them.

Not feeling:

I am numb.

Three words such power

Of description and

Simple explanation

This is why I do not

Speak, or see or respond

I am deaf, and blind

And numb.

Numb to all, including

Myself and the world

In equal amounts, they

Are nothing to me.

Not out of choice,

Not because it's what I want.

But because... I don't know.

I really don't know.

But I don't care, no that's not it.

I want to care, I think

I really should care

But I just can't.

The well of motivation

Inside me, is dry

Bone dry.

And I am empty.


	59. Talking Trapped

Can I talk to you?

What did I do? 

If I was annoying you, why couldn't you just say

Why couldn't any of you just tell me?

Every day now, I fight with myself, with my brain. 

It wants to -I want to- end it, 

Because I can't keep doing this any more. But I fought, I fought and fought,

Because I believed that's what you would want, 

That that's what you'd like me to do. 

And now... 

Now I can't speak to you, 

I can't be near you... 

I miss my friends. 

You've all gone 

You've all left me

Why did you leave me? 

What did I do wrong? 

I'm all on my own now

And I'm not winning any fights. 

I can't win this fight, I've got nothing 

To fight for, not on my own. 

You were my reason, or one of them

All of you were, because I didn't want 

To hurt you, any of you. 

I couldn't do that.

But now... 

If I died today,

If I wasn't here tomorrow, 

I could not confidently say 

How you would feel, 

Would you care? 

A week or so ago I would have said 

You would, I would have said 

That you were part of the reason 

I wouldn't be dead by morning. 

But now?

I don't know if I'd believe you care, 

As much as I'd like to, as much as I need 

To believe that, that there's still a reason 

To carry on, I'm not sure I can anymore...

Sorry.


	60. Blank stare over my head

Here I am, this is me

I'm quoting those I'd rather be

I'm standing here, next to you

And you've no idea what I'm here to do

I'm waving my arms, screaming your name

But you never see me and things never change

'The seaweed is always greener' they say

But I'm reluctant to wait 

For you to find some other

And leave me here in your wake


	61. Shame of Suicide

I am Ashamed, that is my name,

And it's what you should call me,

For it's who I am, I am full of shame,

Its hurting me, please make it stop,

It's knawing on my insides, 

For all the blame that I forgot

Do not know when to let it rest

I let them down, and now I rot

But as the blood dripped on, 

Until that wall I'd built came tumbling down,

The only thing I thought really: 

'Oh crap! How can I hide this?' - clearly

Because I'm trapped here in my silence,

It grips me and won't let go,

And all I know is whispers

Pushing to cut my throat.


	62. Rollercoaster

i am not using my escape hatch

my short cut (though not literally)

my easy way out - easier -

that means i'm stuck

like a broke-down car

pulled to the side of the road

out of the way of those

who carry on freely - unshackled -

with their lives. unlike me.

i've got not brakes, that work

that i can use, that can help me

i've got no steering wheel

no control over my vehicle

my thoughts, emotions - running wild

there is no speed limit for them

no bumpers or crumple zone

to help them if they crash or falter

definitly no insurance if i fail

i am free from my dungeon

and on the road again

but i am paying my price

every day i drive without them.


	63. The correct way to eat a Wotsit.

With a fork.

That's it. 

Just that.

With a fork.

Not a knife.

Don't be silly.

Why would you

Use a knife

To eat a Wotsit.

But a fork

Well yes of course

I always use 

A fork whenever

I eat a Wotsit.

It's to avoid

The orange

The just gets

Everywhere

That icky spread

Of toxic bright

That infects without

The metal.

Not only that

But I feel like I

Can enjoy

Can savour

Each Wotsit better

By taking each

One by one

Out with my 

Fork - stabbed

Like a worm,

Ready to be bait -

I can enjoy it

More. I feel

The texture

So much better

The every crunch

And crisp munch

Extra vivid in

My mouth.

So you see

The only way 

To eat a Wotsit

Is with one 

Instrument

One technique

One methodology

A fork. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly how I eat Wotsits - I could blame my ASD... But it's still: 'quirky'. :-)


	64. Only

When you only have one moment

To tell them all your goodbyes

When all you have is one moment

How can you say what's on your mind

When you could write a hundred pages

Filled with a thousand words

All just to tell them, what? 

That you're sorry, that you forgot?

Or just to say goodbye... Why?

When all you have is only now

Only one moment - that's in this instant

How can I say that I'm sorry (please forgive)

Because I only have one moment

To tell you all that I'll miss

There isn't enough time, there aren't enough words

To tell you how much you mean to me

I only have a dozen lines to do my best

So you could understand today

If only I could have more than one moment

But I only have right now

If I only have today then what happens to tomorrow

If my world is ending in just a few hours

Then my moment is beginning

And there's still not enough time

But somehow, right now:

I've got to start.


	65. On a day like today.

Is it wrong to be happy

On a day like today

Is it ever wrong to be happy

It is wrong to feel joy

Or to laugh or smile

Whenever is it wrong to do that

On a day like today

Such laughter is outlawed

Everyone trying to be sombre

In every face I pass I notice

The gentle prompting to be glad

But we push it down for today

On a day like today

It cannot pass.

On a day like today

All we feel is helpless

Unable to cope in being

Unable to help them being

Sad. If sad is what they are

On a day like today

Oh for a magic wand

Or wishing well

Or genie in a lamp

I want to wash away

The pain, the tears

The heart-wrenching

Ache that I see around me

On a day like today

It is everywhere

So when someone asks

If you're 'okay' know

How infuriatingly useless

Both the asking and the

Answering are.

On a day like today

No one should be 'okay'

In fact the way I see it

What really you should

Ask is, are you not...

On a day like today

We must be strong together

Not conscious of pressure

Not overly aware of the

Tears that fall pardoned

On a day like today

Or they should be

Which means they must be

On a day like today

No one should cry alone

In secret, tucked away cold

We must cry together!

Is that what they say?

When they ban laughter

Or smiles to creep onto

Rightly tear-stained faces

We cling together, alone

Cautious of over greiving

As much as over feeling

Joy or happiness or anything

Good.

On a day like today

There is only room for weeping.


	66. To not be okay.

I didn't know her

I don't think I've ever met her

I only see that they have

That they did.

That they are hurting

And sad and upset and

I can't do anything about it

That makes me sad

And upset and hurts me

It makes me mad, furious

And raging all over the place

But it makes me cry too

Like I'm crying over her

I'm not. Not really.

I'm just crying over the impact

Her loss has made, will make

That's why I cry and can't stop crying

That's why I'm not okay right now

But is that okay? To not be okay

For this, not to be okay for this

But about this.

To cry for the changes

To cry for how it hurts

People I care about

To cry for how helpless

And useless I feel.

And selfish too. Because I cry

They think I knew her too

And that's not true

I didn't. What I am crying for

Is simply that I can see

How much it hurts them

And that makes me hurt too

Is that wrong? Is that not okay?

To not be okay, on a day like this day.


	67. This is not right.

This is not how it's supposed to be

They are not supposed to be asking me

How I am, whether crying or not, that

Isn't how they are supposed to act

This is not right, they shouldn't be asking

They shouldn't care what I feel - which is nothing 

They are the ones who are hurt and greiving

Why would they question how I am feeling.

This is not okay, to feel this fumbled

When they are so very clearly troubled

I cannot help them, nor they me

That is what tragedy seems to be

It's everywhere, in every eye

The quiet tear, ready to cry

How hypocritical of me to say

That only those connected can be this way


	68. Itching

Imagine, for one second,

An itch. Not just any itch.

The biggest itchiest, most

Itchy itch in the entire

World – no, universe!

Imagine it, under your skin

Itching away, doing its thing

Digging into your brain

Infesting your every thought

Every action, a part of the itch

Now forget it – throw it way

Remove the thought from your

Brain, your body and entire being

It no longer itches – why would it?

Or does it linger somewhere in your mind

Do not itch. Do not even twitch.

No tapping of fingers, not even

The ritual stamping of feet

Do not itch that massive itchy

Itchiest itch in the whole world.

Ever. Not ever, can you itch

That awesomely persistent,

Irritating, debilitating itch.

Ever. You’re not supposed

To even think about it.

Can you do that? Just push

It away – all thoughts

All memory of its itching

Can you? Then to pretend

Not one bit of you itches.

I cannot. I cannot do it.

Heart-felt applause on you

If you can. But for me –

It is impossible. To not itch

That massive un-itchable itch.

So I do, every time. Sometimes

It takes me a little while

To give up – to give in and itch.

But I always do – eventually.

I wish I didn’t – but I do.

So if you can imagine such an

Epically-large itchy, itchiest itch

EVER – but not itch it at all, like,

Not one teensy bit, then bravo,

To you, who are better than me.


	69. I'll cry you a river, if you hug me a bridge

There is no hope for me, now

I am lost in that vast and deep sea.

These tears I cry, they fall pointlessly

As I hide in a corner, desperately stifling

My every sob and sniff that emerges

Lest someone would hear and maybe

Want to help me - worthless stupid me -

And then what would I do?

Stand up and admit there is nothing,

And I mean nothing, they can do

Or say - except perhaps the simplest

Kindest and most impossible action

Of all, offer me a hug. Sometimes

I think that is all I really need. A hug.

It doesn't make it better - at this point

I know that nothing really will -

But that so very often underrated act

Of arms around me, meeting on my back

Can offer acceptance, coupled with a smile.

Not of sympathy or even empathy

(for that means they have suffered too,

And I would never wish that for you)

Just of acknowledgement: of our own

Inablity, to 'fix this' anyhow we can.

And a hug, just a quiet gentle simple hug

Can show me that you understand

But also that, maybe just maybe,

You care - just a little bit - do you?


	70. Crosshairs

It wasn't aimed at _you,_

I didn't do _it_ to hurt you.

I didn't want to hurt _anyone_ but myself

And I did, _quite_ successfully.

 _But_ the thing I didn't count on

Was you getting _caught_ in the spray

I didn't think you _cared_ \- enough -

Or at all, if I'm being _really_ honest. 

I'm not saying that's _why_ I did it

But it was a reason to not _not_.

Do you _get_ it? Yeah? A little?


	71. Transcript [138]:

I have a suggestion.

A little exercise of sorts

If that's okay with you?

Just tell me if your feeling

Uncomfortable or whatever.

Okay? Right. Now then, ready?

Focus on your feet. Yeah, I know!

Every detail of them. Focus.

Slowly clench them. Really tight.

Tighten up all the muscles.

All the way, tight! Tense them.

And now concentrate on that.

No no, don't look at me - concentrate

On your feet, only your feet.

Now, slowly, move it up your legs.

Curl them, stiffen them. Tense up.

Tighten up the muscles. Gradually.

One by one. There you go! Focus.

How do they change, when you clench

How does that feels - to control that change.

Now keep it moving. One section at a time,

Easy does it. Stomach, chest, shoulders.

Arms and hands. Tight fists - don't dig

In your nails, that is not the purpose here.

Focus! You are wound tighter than a spring,

So? Spring it! Let it all go at once - release it.

On the count of three: One, two, Three.

Release! Yes! Let it all rush out and leave

And relax, flex your feet and your arms.

Shake out your fingers - good. Very good.

And breathe - don't forget that you know

Its kinda vital. Deep breaths, in and out.

Slowly, bring it back down, and calm...

And, calm... Breathe in through your nose.

Out through your mouth - come on now

You know the drill by this point, surely!

There we go, easy does it. Gently - be kind

To your lungs, I'm sure they'll appreciate it!

And be kind, to yourself. Do this whenever

You feel overwhelmed, like you have no control.

And just... Let it all out. Feel better? Good,

I'm glad.


	72. The Truth of Time

They say that Time heals all wounds

Well I say why should it be able to

Some wounds I do not want to heal

I need them, their presence stops me

Mainly from creating more, just think

If I permanently had half-healed cuts

I'd never cut again - probably, maybe -

Scars fade, I mean it's kinda what they do

But in my head all I'm screaming is just:

Why? Or: How could you do this to me?

I feel... Betrayed. By my own skin, by my

Own body which just keeps on going

If when if really rather it wouldn't

It just keeps healing, working away to

Close the wounds, seal them up then wash

Them away with Time. Time, of course

Helps willingly, even joyously. Sadistic right?

They say Time heals all wounds

Even the ones it's not supposed to

That I don't want it to, that I can't lose

But of course, still do and still will. Always.

Time heals cruelly and without remorse.

In my head, I liken it to a gunman just 

Opening fire, spraying bullets into everything

Alive, dead, inanimate, breathing, conscious

Thinking feeling, it doesn't matter to the gun

It just shoots when it's told to.

Like Time does, when I cut and bleed

I'm practically putting up a poster, saying:

Come on, I've got some healing for you!

I've got some forgetting to do, some erasing

To occur... What are you waiting for? 

Erase them. Hide them away from the present

Leave them in the past - let me move on?

Is that what I want. It doesn't really matter,

I don't get a choice either way, so come on

Wipe away my identity, wash me free of all

That ties me to here and now and everyday

Wash me away, as in Time all will

I will be nothing, a number in a box 

One name on a list of millions

So all I can say, beg, cry, beseech, scream, is:

Why don't you hurry the hell up?


	73. The wall will always win

'What have you done to your hands?'

'I picked a fight with a wall - the wall won.'

She doesn't understand, but how can she

I am just so indifferent - ambivalent you could say

To every scratch and bruise that blooms on my skin

It does not phase me - it simply cannot

This gentle tracking of every stray cut and lingering mark

That was once my everyday - though 

Now that may not be true, memory prevails

I remember days spent counting fading scars

Tracing ageing marks that littered my skin

Like clouds in the sky or plastic in the ocean

Polluted I was, but now it doesn't matter

Why should it? My everyday is now an silly

Overgeneralised thing of every-once-in-a-while

So when she says to me: what have you done?

My answer will never be anything but sarcastic

There is no use in lingering (not any more)

No point in hesitantly whispering my issues of the day

That is as silly as making the wounds in the first place

And my pointlessness quota cannot overflow

Whether I pinch or punch, welt and bruise

Cut and bleed. I stay the same. It is...

A part of me now, and it's never going away.


	74. 200 days

Two hundred days - that's a powerful number

Nearly a third of a year gone by

Ten lots of ten, times two: or maybe four lots of fifty

What a lot of days to look back along the beach at

So many minutes and hours spent and done

Shall I tell you how it feels to be here, standing 

At the end, of my tightrope-road I have undertaken

I'll give you a metaphor, that's complex and simple

It feels like, to me, I've been walking for a long time

But I was told, by my brain, by my body and by the world;

That I couldn't walk without two crutches, one on either side

And I put down one crutch, that was fine and agreed

But then as I reach this flagpost with its numbering

On a banner flying regally high, I look down to see

No crutch holding me up at all. Not one, or even two

Nothing there to support me - so I topple

I crumble and fall to the ground, how could I

Possibly stand without a cane or stick to hold me upright?

Except when I open my eyes, I'm still standing

Up straight, if unbalanced and wobbly as hell

But standing tall - taller by the minute - as I look back

At the road I had travelled unconciously under my own steam

I feel: betrayed? As a child learning to ride a bike

Feels when their guardian let's go from their back

When they're off, flying and soaring, but all they can say

Is 'why did you let go' - even though they did just fine

Without aid, without a crutch to support my weight

So did I. I flew just fine, I lived and dreamed and breathed

In the air each morning, without those puppet strings

Keeping me upright in their merry dance across the stage

Without my guarding hand I soar, without that

Magic feather as Dumbo knew, I could still do it

Without that fairy godmother to wash away all

My problems without my ever having to face it

Without that wish upon a star ever coming true

Without that crazy genie in a magic lamp, without that blade,

Scarlet red and cradled in my lap. I did it myself...

I made my wishes come true, my dreams reality,

I reached the flagpole with its resplendent colouring

Stating proud and clear: 200 days! In all its glory.

Without my crutch, either number one or number two

And even without a single 'bibbity bobity boo'

I reached my goal, all the way out here and looking back

I think it's clear, I didn't do it on my own. Sure

There was no crutch to keep me up, nor cruel puppet strings

To control my limbs' every jump and dance

But there was a fluffy pillow on which to rest and sleep

And kind words with a rebalancing hug or a smile to keep

Last but not least, I saw whenever I looked down

A mad gigantic net below me, to catch me if I fell

Because those special fairies you must believe in, 

Are those secret, crucial, loving, ones that we call friends...


	75. The day of the birthday

You only turn eighteen once right?

You gotta treasure it and celebrate it lavishly

It's not that I don't want to turn eighteen

Apart from it being a sign of going forward

And never ever backwards, a signpost directing

Me headfirst uncontrollably into my future

It's not that, at least it's only slightly that

In my head it's just another day, at most it's

Just another birthday, those times I have dreaded

For the past five years at least, avoiding any

Grandious, exuberant, over exaggerated celebrations

I don't see what there is to celebrate and why should any one else

That may be what I don't understand about a party

Why anyone would take time out of life

-Out of the hetic everyday we are all used to-

For me, to celebrate my continued existence

Despite everything the world and myself have tried

Eighteen years of being alive and I got bored after 13

And yet I'm still here but this was not the end goal

Ever. This was not where I wanted to end up

Not where I envisioned myself a year ago or three

Why would anyone waste precious time on me

My mother is prescribed to, but only in particular doses

My father and sister take their portions as carefully

As someone on a diet facing a plate of pizza

My friends get sick of me in their own way

And I never demand attention nor attachment

Meaning no over-extended time spent in each others'

Company excessively. I give them the fire exit

The quick and easy way out because I cannot

Believe they would not choose to be anywhere

But there with me should they have the option

If I'm being honest, I know that I wouldn't

Physically and everything-else-wise impossible right?

I don't care anymore. Just like I don't care about

My birthday, that big one eight. An adult - how terrifying

I'm barely succeeding at 'human being' level

Now I get an unmanageable unavoidable upgrade

To Adult. Because of an extra month or couple of days

I think I am making progress and I no longer hate

Myself, or want to end my life. And then I stare

Face to face in the mirror with a person who cannot

Bare to think of their birthday coming around

I thought I was excited, I convinced myself I cared

But when I came to planning a party I just wasn't there

I'm not sure if it's anxiety over socialising and the rest

Or if it's truly because I can't put my hard-won 

Friendships to the test by asking them to choose

Me over all the many possible things they could

Otherwise do. Who would pick me over extra

Revision the last weekend before our full mock exams?

I know I would not, do they understand how that

Excuses them forever from my forgiveness, they don't need it

I am so scared, so immobilisingly petrified that, to me

If they came it would be out of 'duty to friendship'

Or some other thing I could not ignore in its ridiculousness

I don't want people wasting their time for that even

More than I cannot accept them wasting their 

Dear life (there is only one for each of us) on me

So for my eighteenth birthday can't I just be alone with me

And come to terms with getting older, how I feel

A hundred-year-old would when they realise

They've been living for a century, a hundred years

Yet I've been here for 18 and it's feels like it's the same

It's not of course, how could it be, but that momentary

Epiphany is here now and I'm days away from

Waking up 18 instead. I cannot stop nor slow

The slipping sliding course of time as it flows

Ever onwards to some imperceptible goal at the edge

Of reality and all that we know. If I could I wouldn't anyway

Because no matter what I turn 18, like everyone 

Else before me. And I cannot stop it all I can say

Is why celebrate just another boring day

Yes I was born 18 years ago today but that doesn't

Make it special or magical or precious in any way

Because it's the day two days before a big exam

And I for one am not going to spend it without

A book in my hand and revision notes in my pocket

So who cares if no one's there or everyone I've 

Ever met is. (Though if they are I'll run a mile) 

But I do not want to let them down these people

Who I do truly care about, and have convinced

Themselves wholeheartedly (for the most part)

That I deserve this outpouring of joyous company

That I am worth taking to time to come over

And simply say: 'happy birthday' right then 

And there, on that especially crazy 18th birthday day


	76. If we were women without men

If we were women without our men

Would we just be 'wo' instead

Would our lacking in the other gender

Somehow reduce our status in the singular

Could a loss in one part of our nature

Mean a loss within our self resplendour

Or could a removal of the weakest link

Profit all who dragged the weighty chains

If we were set free from our allowances

And constant coddling and sultry soothing

To stand up as Wo, not secondary of men

Not second to one half of us, how about

They're third behind our great and best

And we'll stride off into the universe 

Having cast off those sinking males

'Mankind' is dead and we will thrive

Survival of the better species, now becomes

A gendered race, because once we know 

That we can simply replace that lesser sex

We'll do away with those of inferior nature

And live in single sex status forever.


	77. Time heals

The truth is: time heals

But not in the way you might think

Or hope, or need - if we're being honest

Time blurs and fades things

It takes a fresh cut and turns it into

A pale scar, lifeless in comparison

It dulls the sharp edge of pain or grief

It allows you to forget and forgive

Even if perhaps you shouldn't

It covers all memories in a film

Of concealment, only translucent for

The brightest parts of remembering

To shine through. So yeah, time heals

Some would say all wounds, but me

I think if you try, if you hold on tightly

With both hands to the memories

Using photos, items: evidence of events

You can survive the cruel, brutal

Faceless merciless passage of time.

Because time heals all wounds

Even when we don't want them to

When healing is the last thing on our minds

When all we want is to feel pain

And more than that, keep feeling it

No matter how much time passes

We punish ourselves with the memory

Until time comes along and scrubs

At it like one does grime until bit by bit

It is washed away. Not the evidence of it

Nor the photographs showing before

And its companion, after. Just the

Physical reality of its existence. We can

Still remember, still punish ourselves

With old hurts now long made clean

And new skin covers them in healing

Time takes her arms and wraps them

Around us, holds us close no matter

How we struggle against her continuous

Unpreventable inescapable passing

Slowly she pulls us from the darkness

We step, still coiled in her embrace,

Blinking into that forgiven healed light

And stand there, shaking with the

Forgotten and it's evidence spread

All around us shouting for our attention

To garner our support for its remembering

But we move away, following the ghostly

Tug of time and her mission to fulfill

Our lives no matter the price

No matter how we long or dread it coming

Still it comes. She comes no matter what

We do or say, or think or feel. She arrives

Because time heals all wounds

Softly, gently, caring yet uncaring as to

Our cares in that moment or any other

Her job is to heal and she does it so well

Indiscriminately and without prejudice

She does not judge only acts in peace

Never restless, she knows her own time

She walks beyond our understanding

Of past and present and future.

She rules, she is queen. And we bow to

Her whether we know it or not.

For we do now, though we grasp old

Illicit memories and say nothing

When the slip through our grip.

Time heals, forever and always.

No matter what.


	78. \Photos\

These photos I have taken

The ones that others might hate

Or recoil from, or at the very least

Regret... They still have power

Over me. Though they are old now.

That doesn't change a thing, they are

What they are, and what they are

Is what they show. They have the

The very same effect on me, as

They did so very long ago.

The last time tht I saw them

And on the very day I took them

And every single day in between

I recoil, sometimes. More often

More disturbingly, I am intrigued

Although I take some comfort that

It takes a truly special one, a particular

Few, to shock or revolt me - as they must

Do to so many others, if I were to show them

Of course, which I must never ever do.

So I remove them from their context

As it allows me to view them in secret

From the memories that surround them

And my own mind as I gaze at that

Digital pain etched forever into memory

And USB sticks, tucked among old papers

To be hidden away there and only taken out

When the house is empty, except for me.

In a way I know what they're of, before

I even see them, before they can load

I know... I remember you see, I remember

Taking them, I remember making them

I remember gazing at what they depict

Without the verly bright computer screen

In between us. The times when the marks

And healing wounds and scars, they detail

Were fresh and new and still present in my view

That is why I took these photos, despite the risks

Despite the horror and disturbed questions I would Face should anyone ever find them, I took them

Anyway. And now I look at them, time and time

Again. Sometimes too often, sometimes not enough.

I remember what time has taken and washed away

I recall the marks and wounds and scars, long gone.

Despite how they hurt both me and others, despite

The struggles, seemingly never-ending, that came

Hand in hand with their comings and goings

I think of them fondly, now not so much with

Longing, simply as bliss passed over, turned to

Dust at one's feet, Because in all honesty they tell me

\- Quite the opposite from what you might think -

How to do it again and again, but also: 

The reasons I have to _not_ bleed.


	79. Lies

I would say I don't want to lie to you

But I think that would be untrue

Because I know, as it hangs over me

That in the past, that is what I did do

I have, to your face, outright told a lie

Said one thing when the exact opposite

Was the truth. But you, you belived me,

Because I told you I liar I would not be

So I say to you that I don't want to lie

Even though I have said so in the past

Then turned around a minute later

And done just that, betrayingly fast

However the sentiment of my statement

Is in itself, true: I don't _want_ to lie

Especially not to you, but that doesn't

Mean I won't. Because of course, I do

In telling you that I don't want to lie

I did perhaps tell one, as even as I spoke

My words became untrue, a lie because

In speaking I was really saying: I will do

Even to you, I will lie. That is the solemn truth.

It seems, I am sorry - truly. Though that

Cannot change my dreams, that in

Truth and in lies, I mind what you think

So I will forever lie for you to continue

To think higher of me than I am worthy

If I must lie for you to love me

Then lie and lie and lie I will. Sorry -

But that is the truth. I tell you again

I _don't_ want to lie to you, it breaks

Something inside me, that might be

My heart, every time I do. I am _so_ sorry.

But I cannot risk you knowing the truth

I dare not think what it might do to you

What you might think, or feel, or do

So I am very sorry, but today, I will lie to you.


	80. Long Love Lost Last

So what if I'm a romantic at heart

So what if all I want is to love and be loved

Nothing will ever come of it. I know that.

Not for my own appearance and self-satisfaction

Not for my own looking beyond a single gender

Its just that: people. Are far more complex than

I could ever have imagined from reading books

And watching soppy movies as my research.

And I cannot hope to catch them with romanticism

Barely grasped with worn and weary fingers.

I could say "It's just not a priority" or perhaps even

"I haven't met the right person just yet." But

Whether I have or whether I haven't, or if I simply

Am not looking yet. There is something I have not Admitted before: Love _is_ what I'm waiting for...


	81. Rainbow Brightness

I am a rainbow, to those of you

Who look upon me fondly

With no doubt, its true

But to me, I am who I am

I have only a single

Colour to show

And light up every other

To afraid to glow

I will live my life on this

Shifting sand where so

Many other people are

Afraid to stand

I have no choice in who

I am, only in what I do

I can choose to hide away

My truth or I can show

Them what is real.

There is not light that

I can find, which blazes

Just like me. I am alike

To no one else

There is just one of me

I will stand on my two feet

Among all others here

And proudly shout

Without quivering

Exactly what I feel

Is who I am.


	82. Mocks Season

I'm not sure if I can do this

Even though I know it'll be

So much better than last time

I've never had to do this

Like this before, never had to

Stand up without a crutch

And limp forward to the 

Starting line and the paper

And pen which so innocently

Wait for me there. Not without

My walking stick to guide my

Unsteady steps. I know I have

Many arms to lean on now

Instead, but somehow its just

Not the same. Do you understand?

If the price for good grades is a relapse

Then it is one I am willing to pay

Yet if the price of not relapsing is

Worse grades, even though a huge

Part of me recoils at the very thought

And suggestion, I know that if pushed

It is a price I will cowardly pay up

Though my heart and my friends

In equal horrified measure, call out

Against the extremist and black-and-

White opinions that I take at this

Season of paper and black lines

It should not be, not with as far 

As I have come, a time for red lines

Appearing once more on my skin

That is not what I want but if that

Is the price that must be paid

To achieve my end goals it simply

Has to be this way. I know it's wrong

But it's seems so unbelievably wrong

That it's actually right. That if I cut

Then I will not let you down. That

If I relapse my grades will not frown.

Somehow I know that this cannot be

I cannot trade out months of work

Just for some quick relief, however

Much I long to, or try to convince

Myself I can. No matter my self-

Justification, I know in my heart

Of heart that I can't... 

I'm not sure if I can do this

Even though I know it'll be

So much better than last time

Because now I can stand up 

Tall on my own two feet

Stand up without a crutch

And limp forward to the

Courageously to begin

Grasp the pen and paper

Which so patiently await me

Without a cruel and unforgiving

Walking stick that would trip me

Even as I stride taller than before

I know I have so many friends here

Many arms to lean on now

Instead, and somehow I know I'll

Make it through. Can you understand?


	83. Memorials

1 hour-

It's still fresh, pain sharp and brand new

Wounds still aching, sometimes bleeding too

1 day-

A singular rotation, in that place again

Reminders all around set my screaming for the den

1 month-

The call is getting stronger, the hunger at its height

The fear and apprehension, urges me to flight

1 year-

I ponder what it's like here, so far into the future

Does this turmoil ever end and will I get some closure


	85. Younger Fear

When I was some what younger, I truly had no fear

But now that I am older I hold it all so dear

Living constantly in terror of the tiniest possibility

Paranoid over death and destruction in probability

When I was younger I felt nothing in my life

Now I wish forever to return to a lack of strife

Without all these complications brought so coldly on

By knowledge and experience of such phenomenon

When I was much younger I think I remember joy

Feeling happy and quite unafraid, in the face of ploy

Even once they had betrayed me and it all came crashing down

I picked myself up slowly, up off the dirty ground.


	86. The Mirrored Wall of Conversation

I am talking to a brick wall

Or at least I might as well be

It's that or a mirror of the

Time-travelling kind, it's

Reflecting back at me a me

From nearly two years ago now.

I stare intently but all I can

See is the same mistakes I 

Made being made all over

Again. I sigh in despair

Feeling trapped in some cruel

Twisted circle, doomed to

Watch and be watched and

The one I watch to watch

Again after me, on another.

Inescapable for neither them

Nor me. I am talking to a brick

Wall, there is just as much 

Impact made as if I were to 

Hit one - really I should know -

A mirror would shatter at least

And reveal what truly lies 

Beneath. But this conversation

Right here and now, I cannot

See how much of what I 

Hear in replies is simply me

Hearing myself without my

Own voice speaking. Despite

This I push on and try to make

My point known, I throw

Sponges hoping some of it

Will absorb into the brick

Allowing for ice later on,

So much later on, to crack

It's imposing immovable

Facade and bring it crumbling

Down. In many, many years

To come that I will never see

But still I hurl my soaked-up sponge

In the hope of a future for thee.


	87. 18

Midnight

No turning back now

Time carries on

It's slow creeping

Stride

Eating up the days

Weeks and months

Of my life

Of my many years

Of my eighteen

I could not stop it

Even when I wanted to

It will not listen to entreaty

Nor begging of what

I should do

It will not falter

No matter my words

It never pauses

To offer some remorse

Cleansing and refreshing

It washes me clean

After each day

Ready for the new

One to dawn

Bright

Earlier than I really

Ever wake

Early in my twighlight 

Eyes blinking

Does my day break

Upon this earth 

All those hours ahead

A sunrise on the acropolis

Was two hour ago

Yet only now does

The same sunlight

Reach my window

Into the world

My world that I know

That has existed

For so long now

18 of those years

Long and short

As they have been

How many more 

Do I have coming

Though none of us

Know, I can trust now

That the future is 

Brighter

Brighter than these 18

Years that have led

Up to it

Because though 

Months of labour

Go into the construction

To reap the fruits

Need only take a moment

So take a deep breath

One of those long

Inhalations

That fill your lungs

To bursting

And when you release

It feels like a balloon

Rushing free from

Your fingertips

To fly full throttle

Away - free

Take that deep breath

Of oxygen and so

Many other things

Them open your eyes

That is if you've closed them

And look around at all the

Most beautiful things.

Now can you do one 

More thing for me please:

Can you count eighteen??? 


	88. Alone

I've always had you, there beside me

Helping me onward and guiding me

But now somehow I don't, yet what

I have done I do not know nor understand

Have I said something? Done something?

Do you hate me now? Either way, I am

Too terrified of what the answer may be

To actually ask the question do you

Will you tell me it all again and rant

Specifically at my face? Or night you

Repent and withdraw you hurtful words

For the possibility of the latter I do not

Wish to risk the probability of the first

At least that's how I see it, you might 

Think differently - most people seem to

But to me I must simply mourn this - you

Because I cannot take you telling me

Straight that it is hate and contempt 

You feel even as I hurt and grieve away

The simplest clewrieat option - to some -

Would be to ask for just a little clarification

But I cannot. But I will not. It would

Hurt even more than it does right now

If your reply is the certainty of my doubts

I do not want to risk it - I can't take that chance

Even with you - especially with you, for you

Do you not think I am trying my very best?

A week ago you said you were proud of me

Has that changed so very dramatic in such

Short time that now the exact opposite it true

Without you, no one will feel a similar pride

Over me ever ever again, I swear. My motivation

For your praise, is lost with your utterances

Of disappointment having taken root in 

My mind, watered with my self-doubt

And reaching for my failures as if they were

The light to live for. I fail again and again.

Without you. Even if - and it is a big if -

You were to take back your words that 

Wound me so, even if you were to go so

Far as to apologise as little as I think that

Might happen, I will never forget this hurt

Your words will just be filed away for a day

When my brain wants to hurt me as much

As it possibly can, then your words - perhaps

Spoken in haste, or stress or frustration - will

Live a new life in my memories of mine strife

You, you mean so much. I thought I'd

Always have you there, fighting in my

Corner until the day I could not stay.

But now, I fear - it is my greatest fear -

That I have let you down. I cannot go

Back to your supporting me I have failed

Too badly for that so now, no matter my 

Hurting, no matter an apology if it comes,

I am alone. 


	89. Crashing.

I'm crashing and I know it. 

_Breathe deeply_

_In through the nose_

_Out though the mouth_

The sound of my whistling breaths

Echoes in the darkness here

My hands shake slightly

They feel weak and a little numb

Like they're not all there

A tingling over sensetivity 

Kinda like pins and needles

Except - not

I'm crashing

And I'm not sure why

I mean I have my suspicions

But there's nothing confirmed

Not really

I just know I'm spiralling

Out of control

My self and every part of me

Slipping out of my grip

Weakened I lie numbly

I'm crashing

No sleep or only a little

Clutching the few hours I get

Each night like an old teddy bear

A relic from long lost childhood

Floating, not quite there

My mind a swirling mess

Not able to pin down a train of thought

Or even discern one from the rest

I do not sleep

Not enough anyway

Not as much as I have been getting

Some how - I do not know

It had all been going so well

I should have known it wouldn't last

It couldn't last

I crash now

It's all collapsing

I am too

My limbs' tremble

But I can't work out why

'What is the cause?!?'

I want to scream out loud

The numbing of my fingers

Spreads like blood pooling

Over crisp white tiles

And fills my every cell

As the dark does my sight

Sleep elludes me

Flees from me like a scared cat

Like prey in fear of its hunter

Yet I flail and fail to capture it

It runs, I fall to the floor

And do not give a chase

I am crashing

Although I am not sure why

I know this

My own sense of self

My awareness of my mind and body

So superior in cruel ways

To most others' 

It allows me this

Double edged sword of knowledge

My hands tingle

As I type and scrawl

My clumsy chattering thoughts

To order, formulate

And march into rows

Their chaos and dim insanity. 

I'm crashing

Through layers of barriers

There for my own protection

As well as others

I smash through them

Regardless of their purpose

They fall with me shattered

Just like my grip

On my life

Lifeless hands clutching numbed thoughts

Some part of me still trying

Aching, to catch them before 

They slip through

My fingers like

Silk or water or as air

Does my lungs

I'm crashing

Alone

In the dark

Scared

Stressed

Tired

Numb

Falling down, down.

I crash.

And hit the ground. 

_Hard._


	90. Shhhhh

Quiet, quiet down

Please. I cannot

Control myself.

My limbs rebel

Against what

My brain wants

Them to do, now.

Calm down, I

Tell myself -

My self ignores

Me and laughs.

Walks away

Utterly unfazed

Leaving me

Lying, dying

On the ground. 


	91. Assure.

I have my issues

They will not be my excuse

But may I please

Put forward some

Evidence of my

Search for ease

In communication

With whomever I choose... 

I have a 'condition' 

A disorder some might say

To me it was just a label

For me to face each day

Now I think that actually

I have 'come to terms' 

With its meaning in that

I have no disease nor germs

It has its problems, sure

Although I didn't see

Them at first, amongst

The blackest parts of me

They tell me these things

Spiralled and grew out

Of this faulty wiring in

My head, but I doubt

Because even though now

This seems like a part 

Of me, to say it is the 

Answer is but the start.

My other issues and pains

Came before, but they say

This was the root of all

So I breathe a quiet 'okay'

In my view, it is simply that

Emotions confound me

Leave me lost and adrift

In the broiling dark sea

They are questions without

Feasible answers, equations

Or formulae or simple sums

That have no solutions

I cannot make sense of them

They confuse me, no end

And their mocking logic

Which all others comprehend

I feel trapped in some maze

Sometimes, it draws me in

Like I am prey and leads me

Into the dark depths within

I cannot always see the path

In front of me but blindly

I tend to stumble onward

To some light shining dimly

I understand that I cannot

Be understood, at least not 

By many and even the few

Who try and try: cannot. 

That is alright with me 

\- I swear - I am used to it

All this fades away when

I stow it in my darkest pit

That is what I usually do with 

All that fears or troubles me 

It may not be practical or good

But I survive, so let me be.

It may be quite a tough tale 

To tell, I'll find some way

To ease it - trust me, I 

Will manage it: some day... 


	92. Adrift

i’m drifting like there's no gravity

yet my limbs feel heavier now than ever

the very air on my skin seems thicker

weightier in this moment here

my fingers will not respond

i cannot direct them, they flail

useless, numb and frustrating

on the ends of clunky clumsy

arms that flop, loose and boneless

at my sides. i scream silently

as no air emerges and no air

enters my aching lungs that

struggle and fight each second

to breathe, to continue life.

yet i drift and swim on top

of the ground heavily

in contact yet freely flying

and falling all the same.

my mind disconnected

there must be some loose

wire, some faulty circuit

somewhere in my brain

it stutters and weakly

mimes life within that

hollow skull of mine

my body empty of thought

control surrendered when

maybe it was never owned

sold off and bargained

to avoid the cracking

of all safety or security

within my mind that

shudders and quakes

in the howling winds

swirling tornadoes and

crashing waves that battle

my limbless, mindless echo

of a human being. caught

held hostage, by the 

unending stresses of average

life - i cry yet no tears fall

they remain trapped behind

eyelids which cannot open 

as much as i cannot lift

a finger or a toe or even

a lung to gulp in that

toxic and thickened air

which flows crushingly

around my inert form

which is unable and incapable

of responding.

i am adrift


	93. Masquerade

To me it is as if you are all

Wearing masks, they may be

Paper, card or even porcelain

But they cover your faces

All the same. Words as much

As I know better than most

Can explain and imply and

Describe so so much, I still

Cannot correctly gauge

The face hidden behind

The emotionless masks.

You do not mean to wear

Them in fact you do not

Even know that you do,

But in my eyes I see them

On every face I come across

Each day, they shroud

Emotions from me like

A veil across a bride. 

Drowning does not aid

My puzzling, nor do

Tears nor smiles nor

Raised voices. Perhaps

True enough emotion

I can actually pick up

But not as much where

They are directed. Can

You see how I so easily

Misinterpret when 

Every guess made in the

Game is made handicapped

That is what I see this as

Now I have thought about

It so much it almost hurts

All I ask is that your masks

Do not become a parade

Of mockery in my face

Keep the masquerade going

These bright colours look

So pretty and cheerful, in

My mind's eye. No plain

Stiff, stern and harsh of white

Just be yourself and it will

Shine through nonetheless.

I still see your faces behind the

Gaiety and laughter. I still

Notice all the truer feelings

Brimming below - I may

Not understand them nor

Quite what to do about them

So that even when I try my

Efforts rarely succeed. Still

Wear your masks, I shall 

Not speak against them

For honestly whenever I 

Gaze in a mirror I am glad

To see my own steel face

Hovering just above my

Skin - cold and emotionless

Except with me, I think

That is far more like what

It within. 


	94. Solve.

Divide your problems

Multiply your hope

Subtract your fears

Add some friendship

And the solution is clear. 


	95. Daytime

How do you approach a day

Which ones upon a time meant

All that is a threat and a warning

Now is reduced to simply a

Sign of the seasons turning

And another year been and gone

A day that once was a sign of

My weakness, my selfishness

And general cowardice 

Now it's just a year's signpost

To all that is different and 

All that is the same as before

To view such a day as little:

A passing momentary elapse

Of hours until twenty four

Stand behind me, waving 

Their goodbyes. Well I say

Have you never wondered?

Have you ever even slightly 

Wished for it all to be over

And done. Don't say you

Have if you haven't, be sure

In my gladness if this is

Merely me being insecure

But if you have never felt as

I have, never felt that strong

Urging call to never greet

A new day's dawning again

Then maybe you are not in

A place to understand me

When I say I fear this day

It's not because those feelings

Longer but rather because

Now I have 'put them behind

Me' I find myself at a loss

For what I am supposed to do

To be when this day comes

Around again, like clockwork

I just don't want to flounder

When everyone else since 

The beginning of time, knows

Exactly how to be - I'll wager 

If I cannot feel as I felt, then

Right now who shall I be

If I cannot be myself (of 

The past albeit seem) and

If my current self is a mystery

Then how do I be not a mirror

Myself of the past is long gone

And buried, though fingers

Like new shoots burst forth

On the surface - alive and yet

Full of hope, this is how I see

Myself now as I look to today

This day of memories though 

It has never happened before

In history, days repeated cannot

Be - except in novels in which 

All rules are suspended - and 

I can stand tall today and just be

Just be myself on a day when

Everyone expects something

Different yet still somehow

The same. How can I meet 

This contradictory target

With only the presents and 

Cake things to have as my 

Birthday martyers?


	96. Prohibition

Laughter is forbidden

Smiling is a sin

We barely breathe

Hold our lungs still

Silence is key, so

We do not speak

Ignoring every traitorous

Twitch of the lips

In favour of pushing

All feelings down deep

Except perhaps sorrow

That is permitted

Encouraged even begged

The more public the better

Weeping in huddles

Crying in corners

Brought to life by cruel

Social expectations

That demand we show

No matter if we don't

How much a death and

Grief, affects us... 


	97. Juxtapose

Fire

Burns hot and bright

Raging beneath my skin

Greek fire

Burning everlasting

Forever 

Scalding skin

Hot to the touch 

Itching and healing

Yet burning bubbling

All the same

Nothing can quench it

It will neverburn itself out

Flames lock my flesh

From within myself

It curls outward from my brain

Licking each limb

With its bright breath

Trapped in its circle

Held tight

Unable to breath

The fire sucking all

Oxygen from my lungs

Relentless

Unrepentant

It burns

I want it to stop

Burning me

Haven't I enough scars already?

Ice

Burns cold and harsh

Seeping into my skin

Melting

Fading in intensity

Warming

As my flesh flares

Icy water drips on me

Cold and clammy

Yet cooling and cleansing

No matter what

It appeases the fire

Coaxing it to die down

It's quiet fingers stroke

From its watery stronghold

Running in rivulets through

My body into my brain

Sighs of icy relief 

Emits from me

I am set free in the cold

Gently held

Breath returned

The fire extinguished

My lungs flex in cool joy

Free

Alive

Sane

The ice cools my skin

Setting me free

From the scars of

My memory


	98. Poetry is just words

Poetry is just words

That's all it boils down to

Just words, softly spoken

Or screamed in the quiet

Of the darkest of nights

Words - carefully crafted

Yet murmured under the breath

Echoed time and time again

Inside the safety of the mind

Just words, nothing truly

Special in them. English - or not

The only thing those words

Brought together, each a

Part of the puzzle they are

Swept into the greater picture

A masterpiece or simply

A five-minute sketch

Human imagination

It makes homo sapiens

Unique: poetry distinguishes

Us from the everyday

Creatures that roam

This earth, it divides us

From the commonplace

And - though not unimportant -

Not HUMAN. 

Because human beings

However cruel or messy

Or disgusting or heartless

We can be sometimes... 

Poetry. Our wordless thoughts

Put down on paper or wherever

Whispered, barely breathed

Like a heartbeat in every step

Reaching out from inside our minds

To touch and be touched

Like a precious hug - it goes both ways

And now with hundred I hope

That there's a hundred more ways

To say that poetry does something special

Each and every day. 


	99. Life metaphorical

Life is like a labyrinth

A labyrinth, not a maze

With obstacles and demons

Hidden all around

Waiting in the darkness

Wanting to be found

Maybe it is more maze-like

With so many different paths

Available for you to take

All going in opposite direction

Leading you to chaos

And confusion and pain

Perhaps, quite simply

It's neither. Life is

Not something to be

Constrained, by metaphors

Or - sorry - similies

And to be told what it can be

That's what it does to you and I

So maybe, it's quite fair

To describe it with an image

One that sums up all it's

Tragedies and mysteries

Or at least attempts to

As you can see... 


	100. Mentally

My mind is a liar

It constantly betrays me

It seeks to destroy 

To hunt down the cracks

And weaknesses in my

Sheilds and walls

To break them down

And leave me trembling

Exposed to whatever

Horrors it can create. 


	101. Grief contains me

How can you tell that I'm grieving?

I wear no veil nor armband

Of the blackest black to help you

See how my circumstances define me.

I am mourning. What a statement

But in my head it does not

Wholly describe this feeling inside

In the days of old, in the times

Long ago (of course, in the 

Uppermost classes, for sure)

Full weighty mourning

Meant a change in clothing

And eating and sleeping

Where you went who you saw

All dictated by the death 

Of someone else. But the 

Rules were so very strict.

Nowadays it is not the same

To show pain and hurting

To 'let it affect you' is 

Somehow shameful - a sin

Quietness is respectful and so

Is permitted and occasional

Restrained tears are just about

Allowed - sometimes. 

Of course, it depends on the

Person, on those involved

Emotional messes can be

Excused their excessivity

But those who have shown

They are not weak in that way

Cannot show weakness even

In the face of grief and loss.

Staring all that down, you must

Beat it into submission

Supress it, push it down deep

Inside. Unable to let it out

To let it escape and cause

Havoc in society, like

Some wild animal on

A rampage at the zoo

Not a few silent tears

Tracing their way

Down weary motionless cheeks. 


	102. She walks away

She walks away

Head high

Well, maybe not 

High exactly

But not bowed

She does not

Seem weighed

Down nor

Gloomy

You would

Never guess

Who she has

Only recently

Lost. Her

Love, her life

Yet still she walks

Away. Goes home

To an empty house

Without a word

To say. Just a hug

Goodbye.

Never do her

Eyes look up from

The pavement in

Front of her feet

Her shoulders hunch

But still her feet

Move quick and neat

Making her way

Homeward

And away

From all the glances

And stares and 

Whispers, whether

She cries and laments

Or sits still and silent

In her chair

She is judged for 

Coming just as 

She is judged

For leaving too.

It's a messed up

World that makes

Her draw away to

Stop herself from

Being pushed

She is a social

Outcast, a reject,

Ostracised for fear's

Sake, in case her

Unobvious grief

Overwhelms her

And she makes a scene

For fear of being 

Caught up in that

Mourning process

For fear of hurting

Her, further that

Is, and of her hurting

You. She is alone

Now, grieving - 

Though it doesn't

Always look like it

Because why would it

She's human too

And she's doing

Exactly what all

Humans do

The only thing 

Really that we can 

Ever do in the face

Of all she's 'been

Through'. She hides

Away the part that hurts

And puts on a mask

Of being okay.

Regardless of what's

Inside, because that's

What's safe. To pretend

Is safer than to express.


	103. ...

Yesterday is the day before

My unhelpful brain reminds me

Uncaring that I knew before

It even spoke into the silence.


	104. Heat: the quality of being hot

Heat warps

Did you know that?

Heat warps things

Why, I could not tell you

But still you do know what I mean.

When it's one of those scorching days

And you stare glazed-eyed out across

Some sun-warmed patch of tarmac

And you notice the air above it

Shimmer with unknown power

Or when it's a frosty blustery day 

And you're huddled up inside

And happen to glance at a radiator

And see how the air shimmers

There too, quite intangibly

Just above where the eye can see

Metal warps in heat too

Though why I do not know

Sure, I get all the physics

About particles and energy and so

But that really does not tell me

Nor quenches my curiosity

As to why when things get warmed

They faint and flail and fade

Enzymes too, inside your body

Give in when things get too hot

If you're heating up and all those

Sweat glands are working overdrive

To no avail, then they warp

Or should I say: denature

See I know my science that's true

But still I cannot comprehend

Why things warp in sun or fiery blue

There are many metaphors you could

Pull from it, I'm sure

About the similies it makes of

Love. Warmth comes with light

\- they come hand in hand - 

And the implications of that are enormous

But only if you care, and I suppose

You may not. That truth or that

Hope can break any fears or evils

That light and warmth can overcome 

Any wrongs, that love can destroy

As much as it creates, that peace only 

Comes with necessary destruction

Isn't that what nature tells us every day?

Or perhaps more simply could it be,

That life - just as with a beam of light

Passing through water, or the ore that

Under careful work becomes a precious

Work of art - does not always go

The way we plan. 


	105. I hate my brain

I hate my brain

No really, I really 

Hate my brain

My brain is like

One of those 

Stupid cheating

Boyfriends/girlfriends

From every romantic

Movie ever that takes

Two months minimum

And several dozen tubs

Of ice cream to get

Over, forget and leave

Behind; except of course

My brain is a part of me

And one I can't exactly

Do without. So until

The day comes when

Science can rip out

All the parts that make

Me hurt, and hurt myself

I guess I'm just stuck

With hatred. (With an

Unhealthy dash of fear)

Because if I know anything

In this world and in

This life, it is this:

I really hate my brain. 


	106. Ghosts

I see ghosts, you know

Not your typical kind

But my own ones

And I mean that literally

My ghosts. My past echoes

Around me constantly

Wherever I go, they go too

Moments in my own

Personal history shimmer

Like spirits in the empty 

Air around me. I walk

I stand, I sit and sleep.

Still they follow me

Still they haunt me

I cannot forget.

I'm no schizophrenic

Just a girl with a really

Good memory and an

Overactive imagination

But I do see them. They

Are dead to me though

So they are ghosts.

My ghosts. My own 

Personal haunting. 

Done by myself to myself

From the past into every

Second of the present.

I see ghosts. 


	107. Dreams

I dreamed of you

Sometimes I think I dreamed you up

Imagines you out of some sad

Lonely desperate longing corner

Of my heart

Is that where you were born?

I run to you and kiss you

Uncaring of who might see

You smile and rest a hand on my cheek

And tell me to beware

They watch, surprised more than anything

Of me and my affection so displayed

Yet still I turn away from their gaze

And take your hand in mine

I tell you this story, that I dreamt of you

As I slept and as I woke you turned to

Ashes in the air that was not there

Quite yet, I hope, I fear however

That it was all a dream 

And now as I greet the dawn with silent

Lonely grieving desperate longing tears

I sigh and decide, it is time to wake up. 


	108. Little girls and little boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go and have a browse of the internet and see the different perceptions of boys with autism and girls...

Every autistic little boy

Needs something he can play with

Something to collect en mass

To organise and rank

By colour, size or general sass

And march on out

In ruler-straight rows

Around his ordered bedroom they go.

Once I was a little girl

Though 'grown up' I may be

And as autistic, I have something 

That I collect, contrive and keep

In colour order, like the rainbow

In arcs I place them neatly

Because that which I sort and save

Are empty sharpeners from my grave. 


	109. Telepathy Discarded

Sometimes my dearest wish

Is to see inside people's heads

To look into their minds

And somehow understand

But then of course I wonder

How I should feel indeed

If some stranger were to see

My thoughts and memories

Just what they might think of me

For my sanity is not sound

And so what right may I have

To do it the other way around

Besides then where would the puzzle be

In life - for me - there is one great mystery

And that is human beings, truly

They make no sense, to you or me

But still my life would be easier, easier

But more boring, should this skill

I manage to acquire somehow -

The logistics, I admit, are challenging

I mean how would it even work

And what would the rules be

Could I close off my mind yet

Still see those around me clearly

Clearer than I see them now

That is in truth the goal

My vision is quite hazy currently

Perhaps glasses that problem could solve.


	110. Nothing.

I am like a well

Slowly filling up

From the inside

Out it spills

A whole lot of

Nothing.

Nothingness 

Overwhelms me.

I curl onto my side

One leg tucked in

Right to my chest

Knee resting near

My chin

I can feel my rapid

Breath across the 

Bare skin of the

Kneecap

I ache

To not be alone

My arms encircle me

Protecting, guarding

From who knows what

Because the problems

Are not out there

They're in here, in my head

Sharing the air I breathe

Whispering in my ear

With shaking fingers I

Hit play and dive

Headfirst and heedless

Into the music as it

Blasts on my command

Drowning out those

Taunts and murmurs

That are hardly even there

I run my fingers through

My hair and tangle in its ends

Dragging my palms down

Over my flushed face

Reminding myself that

They are there

That I am here

In body that is the most

I can hope for it seems

A stray strand curls itself

Around my cheek and

Dangles like those

Fuzzy cubes on driver's

Mirrors distracting and surreal

I gaze at it in the half light

It's translucent cylinders

Out of focus in front

Of my tired blinking eyes

I tuck it back behind my ear

Out of sight and out of my mind

That is what I am though

Fucking out of my mind

With nothingness

The slightest noise distracts me

The music is paused

With a twitch of my thumb

I stre unseeing into

Darkness and face it down

Without fear yet

Utterly uncomprehending

That just about sums me up

That and nothing

Not something

Just nothing

Is that what I am?

At which point does the

Thing that owns you

That controls you

As a master does a slave

Or a puppeteer the puppet

I am a puppet to this great

Vast nothingness inside of me

I cannot see into it

I cannot find a way out of it

It is just there

Like an uncrossable ocean

Or an unclimbable mountain

Impassable and implacable

Relentless under my scrutiny

And all my raging and weeping

It just swallows it all up

Like a black hole

Or a very very very hungry

Caterpillar munching away

At everything I am

Everything that makes me

Human

And alive

The night closes in

Midnight long past and the

Morning beckons

I follow it's call

How can I not?

I am nothing

Not one part of me

In this moment right now

Actually exists

Not that hair that tries to escape

Not the knee that digs into my chin

Not the breath that dances 

Chilling the backs of shaking hands

That also do not exist

I draw in a deep breath and realise

If I am not here

If this nothingness is all there is

If this second right here

Right now is all I am

Is all I could ever be

Then what tiny

Infinitesimal part of me

Is hoping in some deep

Dark quiet corner of this void

Longing desperately silently

To be free. 


	111. Tears splattered on a mirrored surface

The tears are brimming

I cannot hold them back

I stumble away from all

The people that surround

Me, away from the crowds

Hidden, seperate and safe

I bow my head, unless you

Came close - which no one

Ever would - you might

Think I were praying

And in some ways that's true

Although to be more specific

I am begging. God, the universe

Anyone or anything out there

That could make a difference

To this, to me, to my life 

A single tear escapes and tracks

It's way down my cheek

The others fight to be free

But I keep them at bay

My eyes burn from the strain

I lift my tired head from where

It rested on my knees

And stares blankly into space

Until I realise someone is 

Staring back at me - my prayers

Have been answered! Here they

Are, a friend, salvation and hope

The only one who could make 

A difference, of this I am certain

My hope is fragile but stubborn

I gaze through the years that stream

Ignoring the trickle of sorrow's

Water down my face and into

The soft fabric of my leggings

I do not say a word: why

Would I, what would I say

To my reflection in the mirror

Crying and nodding determined

Back at me. The distorted image

My tears have created. My eyes

Locked to mine in silence.

Until the shared head filled with

Fears and hope in a perilous dance

Of equal balence drops exhausted

Back onto the quivering limb

That props it up until it too

Falls limply to the cold concrete floor

Dead as the brain and heart that control it.


	112. My Love

Don't mistake my love for roses

Left - wrapped up prettily in a bow -

Lonely on your doorstep with a note

Scrawled on paper white as snow

Don't mistake my love for texts

Sent in the silence of the night

Filled with importune propositions

To make you happy via Skype

Don't mistake my love for dates

Romantic dinner in candle light

Or watching soppy movies 

In adjacent seats, arms intertwined

Don't lock up my love for you

Don't put it in a box to stuff under

Your bed and pretend does not exist

Like something you should fear

I don't want to do anything to hurt you

I won't push you or hit you or yell

If harsh words do come between us

I promise I will love you in hell.


	113. Not you, me.

I tell you that it's not you, its me

And you don't believe it

I show you my scars as evidence for my pain

And you go from scared to sweet in seconds

I say that I've got my own demons to face

And you tell me that there's not a moment to waste


	114. Torn Asunder

I take your hand

And we wander down

The midnight streets

A different world

Filled with secrets

We must keep

Here and only here 

Can we be ourselves

Wrapped up in each other

In twighlight we dwell

At peace after some movie

And a shared portion

Of salty chips

Wiping off our fingers

Then clasping them

Together

We stalk through 

The shadows fully aware

That someone's there

Waiting to attack

Turn our gentle quiet

Into tears and bruises fair

They pounce in a moment

When for a brief time

Our lips meet

Arms encircled sweetly

In a parody of a romantic scene

The violence rips the silence

And the attack renders

Our love hollow

As no matter our discomfort

It's clear there is no place

We can go

To be free in this society

Of darkness, gloom and despair

We cry, seperately

For together we must not be

Because then they will trap

Us in the night-time

We once called friend. 


	115. I have hope.

I have hope

That today

Will not be the same as yesterday

And that tomorrow

Will be better

Overall

Than today.

I have hope

Locked away in

Pandora's jar

Safe until

I chose to give it 

Up.

I have hope

Because I trust 

In those who tell me they

Love me

That they will carry me

Our of this dark

And into my

Light. 

I have hope

That I am not alone

That I do not have to

Do this alone

But also that I can

I can do this.

I have hope

In myself

That I am hoping.

I trust in my hope 

Because it is mine

And mine alone.

In the darkness of midnight

Or 2am

I have hope

And I pray

That it is enough. 


	116. Killer Killed

You know

I still have nightmares

Still

After all this time

I say that like six months

Is forever

But still

The nightmares

If you could see them

You wouldn't

But if you were

To take a peak

And somehow did not

Look away in 

Revulsion

As quickly as the wind

Changes direction

In a split second

That is

You might ask me

Who is it that you've killed

As you are the blood

Covering my hands

Bloodstained forever

In my dreams

And memories

Always tainted

Until the end of days

Until the end of my days

Blood dripping

Off my outstretched

Fingertips

Dribbling sluggishly

Down the length of my arm

Leaking sideways

Across my wrist

To drip down 

Down onto the floor

Way way below

Bloody hands

New meaning to the phrase

Red-handed

Red

Red fills my brain

My waking 

And my dreams

Are full of it

The red

Seeping into every corner

My hands are covered

They will never be clean

Neither will my clothes

I must scrub them

Soak them in cold water

That is how you remove the

Blood stains

Right?

So how do you remove the

Blood stains

On a soul

Is there some remedy

Some home-cooked

Potion to alleviate

The poisoning

Of my mind

At the hands of my body

Red

Red

Red

I have killed

And I am dead. 


	117. Empty Praises

You say those words

Like the ones you

Just said to me

And they both make

And break my day

If that makes sense?

You say you are proud

Or pleased or even

Plain unconcerned

And it means so much

To me, so very much

To hear it coming from you

Yet in my heart I don't

Believe it. I'm not sure

Why I don't but I don't.

In my head, they are lies

You are lying to me

It is the only truth I can see

It's happened before:

What exactly is so

Different now? Before

They hid the truth from

Me like I was a child or

Like I was stupid or something

As if I would not notice

When the lies came

Pouring out - right to my face.

I suppose they thought it

Best. They thought I was in

Too fragile a mental state

To face the truth (and also

I bet they reckoned, to never

Realise) all to willing already

To see the worst in myself

And in my work to be able

To comfortably and safely

Manage criticism or fault

That I was already perfectly

Adept at creating in my

Imagination which still

Flourishes now. They 

Presumed and didn't ask

Now you and your more

Kindly meant words

Are here to pay the price

Of disloyalty and betrayal

Be dishonest with me

And I will not forget

I'm sorry, I do not mean 

To offend you, honest.

I just need to say these

Words at some point

Somewhere. And I'd rather

Talk to you than them.

Can't you see? When you

Utter those empty words

Of praise and various

Assorted adjectives of

Delight and wonder and

Joy: they mean nothing to me

I can't get anything from 

That, from those words

Of emotional emotionless

Expression. They are vacuums

Void and hollow. I don't

Mean to sound rude, believe me.

Because I can never 

Believe you.

I can never believe

In what you say to me.

What you said to me

Can only be a lie. 

In my head, they are

All lies - any compliments

Which you know

I cannot listen to

Yet you heap up on

My plate regardless

Because you think it

Is right not a mistake

And you are sweet

I think to myself

Guitly already for

Silent words in my head

Sweet, nice and naive

What a wonderful package

See how do you feel

When such language

Is given from the

Other side of the table

Give me criticism

Give me a list of

Where I've gone wrong

Please do not doubt

That in my head

That's all I hear

Fault after fault

Isn't it better they

Be true not imagined

And I'd rather they be

Coming from you

They my own worst enemy

The raging sarcastic voice

In my head, that keeps

Dragging me down

No matter what I do

Next, no matter what

It is you actually said

Give me something I

Can work with

Give me things to

Improve, I mean sure

I'll still hate it and 

Myself all the same

But at least that way

There is hope

An effing light at

The end of this long 

Dark tunnel I find

Myself stuck in

Either way I'm hated

By myself, that is

I hope I've not upset

You with this truthful

And brutal note

But when it comes

To compliments 

I find that honesty

Is always in doubt. 


	118. Sunshine

They say the sun will rise no matter what

And as I gaze put of this window here

Out into space and sky and clear shining

Light of our resident stat, I wonder

What you are? A ball of gases that's true

But the world revolves around that too

We spin and whirl our lives away in

One more lap - is this a race? Who is

The winner, the one who survives

Or the one who thrives. That old

Metaphor for philosophical thought

Live or die, but enjoy your time. 


	119. Night Thoughts

I don't want to be alone any more.

Yet still my brain rattles around

In my head and the shadows all

Seem so much bigger than they are.

The night will drag on forever now.

I am trapped in a circle, a loop, but

I cannot tell where it ends or where

It begins, should I say. A snake

Devouring its own tail - that is my

Brain and I (or is it my brain and me)

We are a constant battle, a war is being

Fought within the confines of my skull.

I rage against the violence that haunts

My every thought and as a consequence

My every move and breath is echoed

By the conflict occurring in my head.

And all I want to do it cry: frustration

Is a cruel slave driver and my tears

Refuse to flow and set me free. So

I weep tearless to pass the night's hours.

I just don't want to be alone any more. 


	120. Do I? Don't I?

Don't want to move

So don't.

Don't want to eat

So don't.

Don't want to move

To get up to eat

So do I?

No, I don't.

Don't want to sleep

Because the night is weak

I am wide awake 

And it's 3am.

Don't want to sleep

So do I?

No, I don't.

Don't want to sleep

Yet still get tired.

Don't want to move

So I don't eat.

No sleep. No eat.

Don't ever move.

Don't even blink.

It's dark outside

And inside too.

The night is young

Yet I feel blue

And grey and numb

And empty... 

There's nothing

There, deep

Down inside of me.

Don't want to move

Don't really want to

Even breathe

Cruel instinct

Of survival

Keeps on beating me. 

No breathing and

Then no eating becomes

Redundant

And I will not move

Nor have to worry

About it

Any more.

So do I move?

No, I don't.


	121. I can't take this for much longer!

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

cccccccccccccccccccccccccc

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

oooooooooooooooooooo

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

mmmmmmmmmmmmm

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

cccccccccccccccccccccccccc

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

oooooooooooooooooooo

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

ggggggggggggggggggggggg

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	122. 73 days

73 days and it'll be a year

8 more days and it'll be 300

Then it'll just be 65 to go

And 65 days is easy.

Its just over two months

It'll be fine - easy peasy.

Nothing like the last 292.

I hope...

8 days. 8 more days until

Another major milestone.

(Not that I'm very good at miles

I'm a kilometers & metric kinda girl)

The last one was 200

\- 92 days ago, near 3 months ago -

And in 8 days. 8 more days:

Almost a week, just a day over.

Then it'll be 300 days

Since... _Since..._

300 days: three hundred days.

That's 7,200 hours, you know.

432,000 minutes!

25,920,000 seconds...

Can you believe it?

All that time, so so long:

Since...

Recovery is rough, just

The other day I almost slipped

When I'm this close

I mean, really!

I am ridiculous.

So nearly at my goal,

And still so ready to give up

So ready to give in.

Pathetic. Understandable?

Recovery is a journey.

These phrases I know well.

Though not from people

Keep on telling me -

It's my view they'd rather

Forget as well - but from

My own internet trawling

On dark and desperate nights

Searching for an anchor that

Can save me or at best a pill

To knock me out like a light.

300 days. It is so close

I can almost taste it.

Taste a number - interesting.

Taste a day, I wonder how?

I've never reached this

Particular point before.

These markers are not

Like birthdays where you

Only celebrate each one

Once, I have got to 200

Before; though a long

Long time ago now

Well over 200 now

Even 300 (or 365) in fact

Though they say you

Have to fall to get back up

Have to be hurt in order

To heal.

Well my healings taken

Its sweet time, that's true.

But 300 days is almost here.

Passively I try to sit back

And wait, calmly observe

The slow dragging of time

Until that day, of celebration

Rejoicing and glee

(All silent and contained

In case I upset anybody

With memories though

A parody of hell for me

Are surely worse - how,

Who knows? - for those

Who try to care for me).

300 days, I can do it.

Just 8 more now -

There's nothing to it.

192 hours, that's with

At least 64 spent asleep

\- At best, or worse: depends

How you look at it -

And though 11,520 seconds

Might sound like a LOT

Remember each one will

Only last a second, in

Case you forgot!

Seconds or moments -

Whatever - are fleeting

But truly I feel like

They add up in meaning.

After all its all transitory

Nothing ever lasts

Not even our memory

So, with time, all pain shall pass.


	123. Lean on.

I look to you

You're always there

Holding my hand

And stroking my hair

I raise my chin

Lift my head high

Meet your gaze

Even as I start to cry

I think I'm alone

Figure nobody sees

The hurt and the pain

Not to mention the hatred

I keep locked away

As deep down inside me

As I dare to dive

In my waking time

I smile to the wind

With its cold arms around me

I feel your embrace

Within its echoes

The gale whips my hair

Back from my cheek

Tenderly brushing

The stray tears away

I flee far from home

From where I feel safe

And now I'm alone

Lost and weary and cold

I was mistaken before

Didn't know what I had

Still you tell me to breathe

And have peace that you'll find me

Wherever I go, you'll

Be there beside me

To hold tight to my hand

As it gapes in empty air

Because I know you're there

I smile sadly to the breeze

Feeling your presence

Though I see, that I'm all alone

Got no one left to hold

Or lean on.


	124. Different Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poem was inspired (more than inspired, driven into existence) by Marvel's Agents of Shield TV series, specifically one scene from Seaon 2 Episode 11: Fitz & Skye (You're different now). You can find it on YouTube, if you're curious - it's emotive for me...

When I look back on my life

Someday, far from now

Maybe I will view this time

These past few days and months

And years of my life, differently.

Before them I was different

Not necessarily better as I keep

Trying to tell myself, not worse

Certainly not worse, but not better either.

I am changed, forever. My life's

Course altered: permanently...

Things will never be, can never be

The same. So why do I weep?

Why do I cry alone at just past midnight?

Why do I gaze with eyes of regret

And a heart filled with grief

At old photos that are really not

That old because they are me.

Me from before, from before

Things were different, before

I changed, before things changed

Forever. A big word: forever.

But so terrifyingly true, for me

In this moment, as I weep for

The person I once could have been

A teacher, a learner, a healer, a keeper

A speaker, a listener, a helper, a person

I can never be now, never ever be

Because I'm different now - but that's okay.

But that's okay? Why? I don't know.

I don't have the answers. Is that okay?

Should that, could that, ever be okay?

I know, one day, when I look back

On my life. On this time, perhaps

Even on this moment, I will think

Of all that came of it. All the more

That could have come from it.

All our lives are spent in cataclysmic

Indecision over the littlest moments.

Will I be okay? One day, far from now?

Close to now? Some day? Will this end?

Will my pain cease? Will I have peace?

I don't know - no of us do. I find no

Comfort in that knowledge which is

Strange, because usually I find comfort

In all knowledge, no matter the consequences.

Because of knowledge, I am different now.

And that's okay? Because the knowledge

That I am different means I can accept it.

Come to terms - isn't that what they say?

I am not grieving another, but still I grieve

For a life, for the loss of that life, for a person

The person, I will never get to be. My pain is valid.

That is not what I seek. It's the lack of

Knowledge, that should ground me but

Instead leaves me floating, weightless and

Gone. I don't know what I could have been.

What I would have been, if I hadn't done

What I've done. Been who I've been.

Been someone else - well then it wouldn't be me.

Energy cannot be created nor destroyed.

That means that everything in you and me

Was once in the tiniest petal of the tiniest

Flower that blooms in the rarest of places.

But all that makes us up, all that we contain,

Was also in a star, so very far away, and yet

Somehow made it here, to this moment

In this way, to make you, and to make me.

So much in creation and destruction

Against astronomical odds of success...

To create this failure at being a person,

This failure at being human, being real.

Because I'm different now, something went wrong.

Right now I'm not exactly sure why

Or where, or when. I do have a few

Candidate moments in mind - but I

Don't know. I will never know. So

Even though the very thought of that

Drives me insane - drives me to cry all

Alone at nearly quarter past twelve am -

I give up the knowledge, I repent my

Search, my quest, to know. To understand.

And for what it's worth: I'm sorry.

I'm changed, there's no going back.

Nostalgia is great and all, but no one

Can turn back time. We all have regrets.

We all have pain and loss. I will never

Understand that. That in all of creation

There had to be hurt, there had to be

Loss, and guilt, and sadness, and desperation

And anything bad at all! Sometimes

I just want it to all go away.

I want it to just STOP. To end - forever.

I want to forget, if I can't go back

And change it, change me, then please

Why can't I make myself forget?

There's nothing wrong with that.

Is there? There's nothing wrong with

Me, now. As I am in this moment

I will - I must - look back on. I am.

That is enough, surely? I exist.

Those stars and alien flowers explode

And destroy and somehow combine

And live again, in me. What right have

I to destroy them all over again - prematurely...

What rights have I over my own life?

Which is not my own, but yours?

I surrender to the universe, to creation

Good and bad, beautiful and damaged.

I cannot go back, however much I

May wish it. No one can change the past

Because they do not want to change

Their past, they want to change their

Present. It is my present, the wrong present.

The present I should never have lived

To see, if it weren't for all those stars

And damaged petals; surviving, and I hope

Thriving, inside of me. I am different now.

And that's okay to be. Forever is such a

Long time anyway, try not to spend

It over 'what-should-have-been's. And

'What-will-not's. Different does not

Have to be bad, although I am yet

To understand how it could be good.

But right now, this moment at almost

Half midnight, change being not terrible...

Has got to be enough for me.

I am different now, and it's okay.

There is nothing wrong with that.


	125. Equivalent to Toilet Paper

It's strange

How something previously

Seen as mostly without worth

To a large proportion of humanity

Can suddenly, humorously, ridiculously

Become a precious commodity

A torn crumpled piece of paper

Softer than that which we

Write on somehow for some reason

Gaining more headlines

And prestige than any global warming

Debate or political crisis.

Something which sole purpose

Is to be used once

\- in a fairly disgusting way -

Then discarded. Immediately.

How can something so single-use

So worthless, temporary and empty

Of real value or even second thought

Become a thing to be valued

Treasured. Fought over. Defended.

Humanity is insane.

And this world has devolved into chaos,

If a tiny piece of toilet paper

Becomes the focus of the media churl.


	126. Autistic but the World's in Lockdown.

It’s funny how the human race

Is so adaptable to change

Frozen planet turns to tropical desert?

That’s fine we’ll swim and frolic

Yet sometimes something very rarely

Is able to through us all for a loop

And when it does, I feel like

Jumping for joy as people look round and say:

Is this what its normally like for you?

All the uncertainty piling around you.

Every possible outcome in its terrible

\- Only ever terrible - entirety played out

Within your mind, sometimes even spilling

Into your waking chatter and cries.

Why, yes. As a matter of fact, you could say it is.

Well, of course once you all settle down,

Things will go back to the way they were before

Not exactly the same – because frankly

That’s impossible – but close enough that

Most of you forget, that brief insight into

What we live with. Give it a name, call it what you like

Box it up and shove it someplace – but

Just for now, just for back then, just for

Maybe, every day in between; you understood.

So I ask you, please…

When the world starts turning once again

And there’s a whole new different to adapt

To all over again, stop and give a thought perhaps

To those for some reason missing, that crucial

Gene or brain connection to allow that ease

For changing. Alteration to the planet are not

Always so easy to see, so when this all ends

Who will remember how we were one people?

One terrified herd, one race, just human

with everything that means, utterly human.

Like me, and you and everyone we love.

Human till this hard time ends…


	127. In the months after Lockdown...

I didn’t know I’d miss that shared community lifestyle,

I didn’t know how precious that sense of togetherness could be.

I didn’t realise how much I’d miss working with one another,

In tandem, in a team, trying to reach the same goal – as one,

Aiming higher than ever before, because together we could succeed.

I didn’t know I’d miss the walks, in the half-dark of the spring evening.

I didn’t know to value that time, spent with family while stars were twinkling.

I didn’t know to so desperately love the chorus of the birdsong, echoing as it did without traffic or conversation to conceal it.

I didn’t think that living constantly in the same space, with only each other,

Would be something I would cherish and grieve for once it’s over.

I didn’t know that I’d miss the helpfulness, the feeling of being involved,

Included, necessary or wanted, my skills and knowledge valuable somehow.

I didn’t know how useful I could be, when I tried – I mean, really tried – to be.

I didn’t realise how much more I have to offer; now I hope I won’t forget it again…

I didn’t realise I would miss it all so much, so it never occurred to me to treasure it.

It seemed at first like a strange vacation, weirdly endless, but temptingly fun…

The weather was glorious (almost always, as I recall) and every community strengthened as they got to work.

I did the usual things, binge-watching this and that, trying to keep busy and distracted; until I stopped for a minute and relaxed.

It was then I realised something special was happening, and perhaps not just to me; that the world was maybe, just maybe, shifting fundamentally.

And it was then, way back then, that I knew what I know now to be true: that nothing will ever be the same again


	128. Feelings: I have that

I feel so bad

I feel so guilty

Wanting for something that I cannot have

My dad always says

Don't dwell over what is out of reach

Relish in what you already have

Don't be greedy, I tell myself often

Don't make one wish too many

And rock the boat and tip the scales

Part of me is curious, mostly it's that

I want - I wish - to experience

What everyone else seems to have

To love and be loved, maybe get my heart broken

Though I'm not looking forward to that

But my brain makes it just 'not possible'

Maybe I'm just scared

Not just of getting hurt but of hurting someone else

Maybe that's enough to make me stay alone

I wouldn't need a friend, a lover, a partner... 

I'd need a carer - that's what people say

And to ask that: I don't think I can

I'm ashamed but it's also something I can't help

And if someone wanted me to be different

Then clearly they don't love me, for me... 

Listen to me talking as if I know what I'm saying

I've never been in a relationship, never had a girlfriend or boyfriend

My sexuality: though I know it, has no basis

An unproven hypothesis. Never to be shown to be true.

Like the fact that I have feelings, like how I don't want to be alone

A hypothesis that could easily be false.

When I was younger people around me said that I must be asexual

Now my explanation is that I just didn't understand attraction

And now? I guess I still don't...

But then I haven't gone looking - I doubt I ever will

An autistic queer: yeah, who'd sign up for that

Who'd swipe (whichever way means no rejection) for _me_

I'm not good with social, it's not exactly my specialty

But some part of me, just wants to be - not normal exactly

Just in a relationship, to use this love I seem to hold for a purpose

Don't expect me to be normal - whatever that construct means to you

Don't expect touch too soon or dates to be acceptable

But don't think that I can't love you, can't show I care at all like that.

I am me. I will not ever be anything but that.

I am not easy to 'deal with', I don't even know what I want

I just don't want to be alone for the rest of my life

Because people write me off as cold, unemotive and distant,

Difficult, not worth the hassle, unloving or unlovable.

I am a human being, and I will wait (patiently) for someone to realise

My life perhaps, whatever - wherever that life leads me to

I am only starting out, it's all before me they say

But love? Meaningful relationships? As an autistic girl and a queer to boot?

I don't know. I can only hope - and rock that boat.


	129. Waves Of My Turbulent Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda metaphorical. 
> 
> Short.

And just like that it hits me

Like a wave knocking me off my feet

You would think there'd be more warning

Than the milliseconds that I get

It's like a swift punch to the chest

Smacking the wind out of my lungs

Leaving my breathless and dizzy

Gasping at the air like a fish out of oxygen

Doesn't sound the most enjoyable, right?

An absolute party as far as my opinion goes

But then such a social engagement

Is considered as torturous as hell, myself.


	130. Let me be me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autism and Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please.

I am not something to be cured

To be fixed or made better or whole

I should not need to be like the norm

Act like what this expected to not seem

Diseased or ill. Normal is a concept that

I do not believe is true. Everyone is different

Though perhaps more me than you.

I am autistic - that doesn't make me broken

Or need fixing or curing or saving.

I am a person, just like you and the next person too

This doesn't mean I understand any other

Autistic individual's experiences

Their lives and brains don't magically

Make sense because we share diagnoses

We are all unique and I'm not just talking about

The autism community, I mean humanity

How does love and loss and friendship and grief

Exist if we are all so very different for each other

I have friends that I love who I grieve over when I lose

I am human, and therefore valid in who I am

What makes you think I need mending?

What makes you think the way I am is anything

Other than what I am meant to be?

And yes it is hell at times. Sometimes maybe -

I wish I was more normal, perhaps...

But if ever I had the option, offered to me

I would not take it, I would not be anyone but me

I am who I am. And I am autistic. That's me.

That's not all of me - I am not two dimensional

Are you? Is anyone? Is it ever just that simple?

I ask you to be free. Step out, speak out.

Be you whoever that may be. And I hope,

I wish every single day, that soon

In the future, the very near future,

Humanity will accept me for me and you for you

And everyone can just be, whoever they are...

Without judgement or condemnation

Without condescending tones or patronising glances

Without bullies or abuse, without isolation and categorisation

Without the search for a cure, or to immediately

Reach for a weapon whenever we are faced

With something new. Or different. Even though

Every one of us is different. Unique and special.

We are all together yet so utterly divided.

I am autistic. That will never change.

But I can stop hiding, from myself and those around me

I can drop the mask and live my life

The way I need to, the way I am.

Just being me. Autistic me.

Regardless of how you label me.

No patches required - I am not broken

Or in need of fixing

I don't need a cure - no thank you.

I am me. So let me be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please.


	131. Sisters

Sometimes I think I know my sister as well as I know my own breath

Yet she lives and breathes herself apart from me nevertheless

At our core our relationship is nothing less than complex

We both (I'd wager) love and hate each other with our every step

The truth is that I think that I know best

Two years older - two inches shorter despite -

(Memory filled with unspoken torment

That I dearly wish she will never know the like)

And I think that I know better - not just for me, but for her

Which in all honesty and fairness, I have not the right

I believe that it is she, most of all, out of anyone, who knows me best

Though even that title she might claim, still misunderstanding is quite rife

I think her often selfish ignorant and piggish to be fair

But many times I have heard such words about myself she's said float about the air

We each are certain of superiority over the other’s faults and flaws

Generally blind to what we perceive of others festering in ourselves

Yet here's where I presume my achievements over hers

I see faults within myself where I know she seems unable to herself

Her ignorance that I witness is something I cannot abide

The Ravenclaw in me screams my self-knowledge ranks me higher

Than she who does not see the bad parts instead of accusing me of mine

So it's true that she may be taller, and quicker and surer and all that I think I am...

But all that I am pales compared to her - though it utterly loathes me to admit it

I think... uniquely. From all others, not just from her

(our strange almost 'twin' communication notwithstanding)

And my fear is structured strangely next to her template for normality

I am the abnormal one and only in this can I truly claim superiority

But this is what has brought me pain so I will not surrender my title easily 

I love my sister and (for right now) she does me

Though now we part, the undulating of childhood terminating 

Within only a matter of weeks, she will be gone

And I too, off to our own worlds, own paths and lives

Begun. But never separate completely I hope - for our bond of sisterhood

I pray shall never break: fade perhaps, weaken maybe

But wither away - I will not permit it

Or so I say, as I watch her walk away, marching into her future

On such a very different path than mine; so I turn around to face what is coming

And do the exact same thing as well – walk away…

But never truly let her go, the tether of sisterhood between us

Sometimes may stretch thin but it will not snap. You see -

Sometimes I think I know my sister as well as I know my own breath

Yet she lives and breathes herself apart from me nevertheless


	132. From the shoes of the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The product of 4am.

You think I haven't been where you stand!

Stood out on the edge looking down…

It's what fills my vision every time I'm in the dark

Just as the smell of blood clogs my nose

And the sting of water on fresh cut skin

Sings forever present in my memory

As mine – only mine - not a shadow or a copy

My guilt, my shame, my hunger and need,

My all-consuming terror and precious sliver of fear

The words uttered in that momentary decision.

To jump or not to jump, that was the question.

Yes or no, yay or nay. My fate to be decided

To be determined or denied - my own life

And death I chose. I chose. I _chose_. Do you see?

And you think I haven't been there, where you now stand…

Blinking because someone has reached out to take your hand.

It can be across miles or millimetres, seconds or minutes,

Across time, space and everything in human existence.

But my fingers are outstretched, almost brushing yours

Surely you can feel it? The way your life just has to pause.

Take a breath, maybe two. It's all about to start anew!

Trust me and take one step - but not over that edge!

Not into the precipice but into my arms. Know how

I will hold you tight, so please don’t give up the fight.

You have the right to choose your life; and also your death.

But listen when I say that life... Life?

Life is so much better than death.


	133. Laughter's Fears

It’s that sound that gives me nightmares

The sign and signal that they are here

Like a wolf howling at the moon

It is just as primal, just as predatory

The instinct is to flee - never freeze or fight

Just run away from the creatures prowling

So late at night, the shadows circle

Cackling calls echo against many bodies

Like the sight of a shark fin cutting through ocean

That sounds sends pure fear rushing down my spine

Laughter, high pitched and overly loud, but still

Just laughter - the pack is having some fun

But it terrifies me in a way I can't explain

Trained from a young age to fear that which

Follows after those mocking jeers and whoops

Alongside side-long glances and un-hushed whispers

Screams and shouts fill the unquiet night

And sleep evades me as I lie in the dark

Listening to the racket of riot of young fun

And trying not to shake too badly.


	135. Independence?

I used to think that independence

Was having the freedom to do

What I thought was best

Having the luxury of privacy

And my secrets all to myself

But now I'm starting to realise

That maybe it's a little more complicated

And perhaps independence instead

Is having the freedom to wonder

What is for the best. 


	136. Well Within

Sometimes I feel like there’s a well inside of me  
And its pure, clean, refreshing water  
The only thing it can do is wash and cleanse  
And make things grow stronger and taller  
Prouder. Sometimes I stare down into it,  
Not quite believing it is there, within me  
Not understanding how that’s even possible.  
But it’s there, ever constant, ever flowing  
Bubbling up within me, bringing hope  
And joy and all the good things of life.  
And I can feel it, so strongly sometimes,  
So sure I am of its existence, its presence  
But other times, it’s not so easy.  
The water is blocked and I feel so drained  
Lifeless, desert-like – barren and dead.  
Like the only water in my well is stale  
And stinking and stagnant. Sometimes  
I just feel like that, and there’s nothing  
I can do – nor anything I have done  
There’s no concrete slab or wooden slats  
Been placed between me and my well  
It’s all up here, in my head, but it’s no less real  
Eventually, I know, the sun will shine again  
And that well will still be clear and cool  
I can drink from it as much as I dare  
But that if the clouds hide the light  
And the brightness turns to shadows  
When the turquoise blue becomes  
Inky blackness, I know everything  
Will be alright. In my well within.


	137. CULTIVATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random metaphorical one written on an exercise.

Fortunate indeed are those

To whom frosts are not unknown

In their great scope for artistic design

Welcome containers for the showier attention

The sculptural effect the noble summers bring

Resist the urge to overcrowd the singly parched places

Your own slice of desert to bring a touch of the exotic

Where the frost bites the more delicate variety

The unprotected and yet distinct on a smaller scale

The choice today is between a worse enemy than glass

The original geometry of special structures in full force

Needed for the permeant and experimental

Of perfectionist wishing - despite ability –

In an artificial ideal it is advisable to prevent

Else they will benefit and the decorative will dry

In fierce upsets on rocks without value or passers-by

Thus we need consider only the truce and the darker ground

The door is wide open to where one can be valued

As much as possible under the glass of the crown


	138. Archaeology Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever written a poem based on a crossword?

**ARCHAEOLOGY** is

the **STUDY** of the **PAST**

of **HISTORY** and **ANCIENT** **TIME** s

of the **YEARS** of **OLD**

and **AGE** s gone by

through the long **ERA** s

we wander **LOOSE** and **FREE**

**SEARCH** ing for things to **SAVE**

**REVEAL** and **DRAW(N)** upon

in our **THEOR(Y)** ies to fill

**BOOKS** forevermore

we **LEARN** as best we can

by **PEEK** ing into **LIFE**

in **ANTIQUITY** and **PRESENT** day

combined

**KEEN** to sneak just a glimpse

and to **VIEW** the **WISDOM**

and **KNOWLEDGE** there

to **ERASE** it or **KEEP** it

though we **DIG** and scan

with the **NEW** est **GADGETS**

aching to **MEET** those whom

we **JUDGE** and **FOLLOW** despite

**LEAD** ing other as we go

into the **WATER** that nurtures all things

and **PROTECT** s our **HERITAGE**

thus always our **FUTURE**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't guess, I just started an Archaeology & Ancient History degree...


	139. My freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown is tough and lonely.

There are bars on the window

And bolts on the door

There are chains round each limb

Though I don't feel them anymore

My heart is nearly breaking

As I bang right on the wall

Is anybody listening? 

Or am I alone again once more.

From beyond my senses 

I know there is a world out there

Of light and hope and beauty

And I cling to it I swear

I gaze out through my lashes

And the iron studded panes

To glimpse the life that thriving

Outside this darkened cage

I sing, I cry, I whimper

In the shadows and the light

It's all the same without this

Chance of giving up the fight 

The floor is hollow, the walls are thin

Yet somehow still they keep me in

I can hear your voices muffled

And sense your presence near

Is there a key, does is it exist?

Or am I trapped forever after this?

I know it's tragic, and pitiful

But only wish for; my freedom. 


	140. My Thoughts Are Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2am: What a time to be awake.

My thoughts are loud

So incredibly annoyingly

Loud. 

More than the ticking of a clock

More than the rain upon the 

Window pane

More than hiccups or stomach

Gurglings 

I long for silence

For sleep and rest and quiet

For them to relent just for once

As I stare at the ceiling

Not seeing but not dreaming

And I swear I can feel

Every second trickle by

My mind is rioting

Screaming and shouting

Nothing tangible, nothing useful

At least not for 2am

There's a plane passing overhead

I can hear the blood rushing

Through my ears

And the clock's every tick

But my brain won't shut up

Not even a brief respite

No vacation from reality

And being awake

Dreamland here I come

Once my thoughts somehow

Stop. Just stop. 

And the rain ceases it's

Echoing dripping down.


	141. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold on

Hope is the one thing stronger

You have to believe that things will get better

Or you'll drown

Believe me, I know

I don't do that anymore

It's been almost a year and a half 

At some point I just began winning the battles

But I have to believe that I will keep 

Wanting to win 

I am proof that anything is possible

If you can just hold on to hope


	142. Orgasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit more personal than I'm used to but I felt it was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If my sister is somehow reading this - f*** off!!!)

  
What an important aspect of life.

Not just of one’s sex life.

But of life itself.

My life, my health - physical, emotional,

Mental - can occasionally rely on it.

And even if not,

It provides such a useful ‘boost’ -

You might say…

There is nothing quite as mindful

Nothing so present

So in the moment

Where all else fades away

All other things are meaningless

Just the chase of pleasure

Just the rush of brain chemistry

Thoughts muted. Body on full volume.

To still my thoughts

To numb them with feeling

So strong they are

Drowned out

My mind rides my body

As my body does

The ocean.

It floats.

Listens to it - for once...

It's invigorating

It's relaxing

It's destressing

It's exciting

It's fun. It's free.

Both freeing and free of charge

It's private

Something of the darkness

Of the silence but for the sounds I make

Hushed in the night

I am my own therapist

Doctor, friend, lover

I drain my mind of all coherent thought

Until it is a miracle I can form sentences

Afterwards, I bask in it

The drifting of the mind

That lulls me to sleep

The mind pulls the body down

In command again yet lured there

The body succumbs with a smile

Like that of a cat that got the cream

Whoever thought that in order to think

One cannot let the body feel

Clearly never did or they'd know

That only after the body is in charge

Can the mind rest and regroup

Before charging into the new day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know, the formatting is shit... 
> 
> Comment?


	143. Midnight of a new day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired & using some lyrics from Memory (Cats - musical). 
> 
> The way the verses reflect my own thoughts on my childhood, teenage years and present/future into adulthood - respectively...

_Has the moon lost her memory?_

_She is smiling alone_

I see the moon, and the moon sees me

I wish on the moon, however glorious it may be

_I can smile at the old days_

_I was beautiful then_

_I remember_

_The time I knew what happiness was_

_Let the memory live again_

When I was a child

Idyllically running

In fields of green

Long since turned

To mud and brick

An innocent grin

A smile that reached

Eyes so young

That didn't understand

I can remember

It almost feels worse

That I can - the memory

Mocking the night

I find myself in

Endless as the sky

Tears on my cheeks

That would only

Have appeared

With a grazed knee

Or a banged head

To be soothed by

Kisses now long overdue

The time when happiness

Was not something

I could miss

When all was simple

Nearly boringly so

I did not know

What I had

Until it was gone

_Daylight I must wait for the sunrise_

_I must think of a new life_

_And I mustn't give in_

_When the dawn comes_

_Tonight will be a memory too_

_And a new day will begin_

I must last through

This night

This darkest

Of nights

Until the dawn

Breaks here

I must engage

In a battle of survival

I must fight to

Even want to win

Counting the minutes

Seconds and hour

Refusing to give in

As the cruel thoughts

Cackle and whisper

They will one day be

Only a memory

Dredged up by a

Passing remark or

Comment on poetry

From long ago times

But for now I must wait

For the sunrise

And hope for tomorrow

That right now I do

Not wish to live

To see

_Touch me it's so easy to leave me_

_All alone with my memory_

_Of my days in the sun_

_If you touch me_

_You'll understand what happiness is_

I am alone

Isolated

But alive

And perhaps

I should count

This as a win

Please hold me

Proove to me that

I have survived

I breathe still

Feel my heartbeat

Time after time

Why do you leave me

To fester in my

Old dark memories

Why can't you touch me

Can you not hear my plea

I remember the moonlight

And the hours sat

With tears as my only

Friends - sleep evading

My exhausted soul

An embrace given

Without thought

Has great consequence

When as tired as I

A gift of kindness

Is precious

_Look a new day has begun_

My life is my own

Now I see this is true

My own to kindle

To nurture and flourish too

I have a choice here

I always do.


	144. To the ones I love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a poem about a memory stick I keep, despite being over a year clean now, that contains photos of all my self-inflicted wounds and the imagery sourced from the internet which both encouraged my habit and urged me to stop...

I have a secret, you see

It's only a little secret really

About the size of my thumb

But it contains all my other secrets

The ones that might make you come undone

See it's a tiny memory stick

A little thumb drive that fits in your palm

It's black of course, made of hard plastic

With edges sharp yet dull and a surface

That reflects light if ever it emerges from the dark

It contains many pictures, some large some small

So of my own devising, taking and creating

Others were born of tortured souls not my own

Describing their own personal turmoil

That I related to so well

The photos made by my own hands

Often feature my own hands ironically

Or my wrist or arm or thigh or fist

Bloodied, bruised, bashed or scratched

Those are just the tame ones

One's that act as proof to me

Of what I once did, the damage inflicted

Now lost in memory and faded scars

I don't know why I would ever let you see them

To let you know exactly what I have done

It's not bragging, only worth crying over

My shame overwhelmed only by the loss

Those others that I mentioned

Discovered in the depths of the web

Google searches that would have

Gotten me committed - if ever they were discovered

And yet still I keep then

Hidden away, next to old blades

Kept for no reason more than

Perhaps to convince myself

A reminder also, of what that road

I still somewhat long to tread

Leads to - what it will always lead to

A warning: forever

But I never want you to find it

Never want you to see those

The images I treasure deep inside

In some twisted way, I know

Still I dread to think what another

Might make of them, if they saw

A sign of my insanity for sure

I never want that for you

Never want your burdened with

That knowledge than weighs on

My darkest of memories

Please continue your life in joy

But take away this: healing does not

Mean the pain happened

Only that the damage caused

No longer has control over

Your life, or mine.


	145. Point of View

I pick up opinions

As a knitted blanket

Does dust

I soak them up

My brain recalls all

Then I spout them

Like a rehearsed soliloquy

Truths based on the fiction

That is perspective

Of someone who is not me

I hear them like they are

The Voice of God and

Preach when given

The barest opportunity

I am sometimes not

Sure anymore

Which viewpoints I speak of

Are even mine own

My voice drowned out

Mixed up in a tangle

Of thoughts, to be

Extricated from the pile

Like a bundle of washing

From everyone in the street

And you can never find

Try as you might or may

To uncover two matching

Socks, no pair of ideas ever meet

Eye to eye, nor do mine

Or whomever I borrowed

Them from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this is an Autism thing, so please let me know if you think you do this too...


	146. These words

These words that follow

I once upon a time

Etched into my skin

Carved into my flesh

Forced through blood

And toil and hours

To become a part of me

  
Burden

  
Stupid

  
Useless

  
Nothing

  
Worthless

  
Failure

  
But now they have faded

So much that what I

Painstakingly drew is no more

There than a passing shadow

Cast by moonlight

They have left me, I am free now

They are gone

Those words that I selected

These words that I intended

To be on my gravestone

Are now no more than a memory

To be recalled in the wee hours

With shudders and with tears

For what I put myself through

That from somehow I have healed

My skin has healed

My flesh has mended

Without my trying, meaning

Or even wanting it to

  
These words hold no power

As long as we don't let them

They are only sound, only shape

Without the meaning we assign them

Empty, void, hollow, silenced

The power of those words

Have been lost to the darkness


	147. And listen to the rain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2am thoughts.

It's raining.

  
But I'm supposed to be sleeping.

  
I think.

  
Just because it's dark doesn't mean

  
I should sleep.

  
Just because it's night doesn't make

  
Sleep come.

  
It's raining and I'm listening.

  
Listening as it ebbs and fades.

  
Pulsating on the roof above me.

  
Above my pillow where my head is resting.

  
The rain pours down and even though

  
It is night time.

  
Even though I should be sleeping.

  
And in some ways I wish I was

  
Because I will regret this come the morning

  
Or should I say, come tomorrow

  
Even though my body begs for rest

  
I lie here, listening to the rain.

  
This is not intended to be a punishment.

  
An exercise of will over my self.

  
This is not intended, full stop

  
But still I listen

  
Lying quiet and still

  
As if the slightest breath

  
The slightest shift

  
Will disrupt this spell

  
The weather has chosen to cast on me

  
And I let it...

  
I hold my breath, I tense my muscles

  
I listen to the melody

  
The hypontic rhythm both

  
Plaguing and blessing me

  
My unconsciousness with feast on this

  
If ever - no, whenever - I finally sleep

  
Because while I listen to the rain

  
My mind can simply think

  
My body is cold, might as well be dead

  
For all my mind cares so long as I

  
Keep listening to the rain.

  
It's raining. Really pouring.

  
Practically bucketing it down.

  
And all I can do is lie here

  
In my bed.

  
And not sleep.

  
And listen

  
To the rain.


	148. My eyebrows and Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of bullying and self-image.

Now. To set the scene.

When I was about 16,

Hormones and everything

Being what they are,

I developed, what most

Would unaffectionately

Describe as a ‘monobrow’.

Just a handful of extra hairs

Growing in between that

In the wrong light sort of

Joined up the two into one.

It was fine. I hadn’t really noticed.

Until one day it was thrown in

My face as a jeer and a mock.

I don’t exactly remember when

Or how or why – if there was

Even a reason that time.

It was just one ‘insult’ amongst

The many I heard daily.

My height, my weight, my face.

All fair game, apparently.

My laugh, my smile, my voice.

All seemed funny, to almost

Everyone else – but me.

I could never get the joke.

Usually because I was the

Butt of it. Anyway,

The first time I heard it

I think I was kind of shocked,

Well not shocked, maybe

More surprised than anything.

Here was a detail about me

That I had barely realised

But these people had spotted

And twisted it around so

That they could laugh at

One more part of me…

I wonder why they cared.

When I got home, I must admit,

I looked in the mirror.

And I did not see a ‘monobrow’

Just a few bonus hairs,

Spare eyebrow, sitting there.

What was wrong with that?

I guess I understood enough

To know that it was abnormal

Or atypical – a deviation from

The expected norm. But I was

Fine with that too.

My whole life I had been the

‘Weird one’ (My whole life

I had been mocked and

Brought down for it too)

I was used to it, I suppose.

But as the days went by

Those taunts got louder.

It was as if someone

Somewhere was handing out

Flyers saying: "Look, she’s got

A 'monobrow'. Let’s make fun

Of it!" Probably because at that

Point they were seriously

Lacking in originality.

I mean, sure, make fun of

How I walk – if it makes

You happy (Which it won’t).

Slowly, it crept into my head.

That the cause of all this – and

The way to end it – was simply

To remove this big sign I was

Apparently wearing that read:

"Pick on me". And that seemed

To be my ‘monobrow’.

So I picked up the tweezers

One night and got to work.

At school, the next day,

Nothing had changed.

Although I’m not sure what

Exactly I expected…

Them to be quiet,

Ignore my existence like

The kinder ones did.

Nope. They just found a

New topic to feast on.

(I think it was my shoes

But it might have been

My legs, I can’t quite recall.

I suppose it’s not important.)

Surprisingly, no one commented

On my lack of eyebrow, that day.

In fact, I’m not sure anyone

Even took notice. Not of me,

Certainly not of my percentage

Of hair on my face…

It was ironic. That when I paid

Attention and listened to these

Idiots, I was worse off than before.

Figures. Some part of me had

Always known it wouldn’t make

Any difference. They had called

Me names and laughed at me

(Not necessarily them, per say,

But people like them) For as

Long as I could remember.

Why would losing my branding

As ‘monobrow' girl change that?

Why would changing me change

How they viewed me, talked about me

And how they treated me?

It wouldn’t. And I had known that,

I swear, somewhere deep down.

But hope. Cruel, bitter, hope.

Had won me over. It had seemed

So simple and it was anything but.

The last part of this story happened

A few weeks later, I was talking with

A friend of mine (Yes, I did have some.

Luckily.) about something or other,

When suddenly she stopped and

Was staring at my forehead.

Immediately I panicked (Because

That was my conditioning) but

Then I realised she looked… Sad.

Heartbreakingly sad. I frowned

And asked what was wrong.

She answered me with a question

In a very quiet and solemn voice

And with an expression like she

Was trying hard not to cry

But sort of also to be self-assured.

She asked me: “Did you pluck

Your eyebrows?” Her tone and

Expression warned me and I

Avoided her gaze. I felt ashamed.

Although I’m still not quite sure

Why. I think I nodded and she sighed

Then gave me a kind of awkward hug.

We changed the topic after that.

Her reaction has always stuck with me.

Even now, several years later, I can still

Perfectly picture her face when she

Realised: a little horrified, then sad.

Very sad. At the time I didn’t understand.

I suspect there are things about that

Conversation I don’t know still.

But I do know this…

She hadn’t noticed, not for a while.

(And yes, I had continued to prune

My eyebrows. Why give them another

Tool in their arsenal?) So maybe she

Was sad she hadn’t realised?

No, that’s probably not it. My best

Guess, looking back on everything,

Was that she was sad that their words

(Which she heard anytime she was

Around me, but – as is agreed – were

Almost a forbidden subject. Not

Open for discussion, even in comfort.)

Had had such an effect on me, that

I had listened. And obeyed.

And that broke her heart, for some reason.

Of course, I mostly get it.

My strange, discomforting shame at her

Question reveals how much I knew

I was wrong to listen like that.

But in a way, I didn’t have a choice.

What else could I have tried in order

To free myself of them?

I cannot change my height or my face.

Or my smile or my laugh (Unless I don’t

Smile or laugh – which I was already

Trying not to do around them…

It wasn’t really working though.

Big surprise.) My weight is a story

For another day. My walk, my shoes

(Okay, I kind of could have changed

My shoes, but how could I explain

That to my parents or justify the

Unnecessary cost.. And most likely

Any shoe I chose would also be ‘wrong’.)

My voice, my words, my thoughts,

My personality – these are not things

I could, would or should ever change

For someone else. Certainly not for

Someone who only seeks to tear me

Down. Somewhere inside I know

That nothing I ever did would have

Been right for them. They would

Always have found something new.

Because that was what I was to them.

Something to laugh at, a joke, a clown

Placed on this earth for their entertainment.

That was my role, and I survived it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is:

Having a few bonus eyebrow hairs,

Or removing said extra hair,

Is not going to change who I am.

I am me. That is not going to change

Even if over time I change. (After all,

I am not the same person I was back then,

Just as I was not the person then that I

Was aged five, or six, or ten.) I am simply me.

Monobrow and all. 


	149. Addicted Life

Why is this my life?

And I mean that unironically.

Will this always be how I am?

Am I forever stuck in this cycle?

I thought I was clear. Home free.

Clean for almost 2 years.

From something that did its best

To drag me to the depths of hell.

But I got away, or so I thought.

Now I’m staring at a new demon

A new danger coming from within.

Am I seriously back to square one?

I try to believe that I am not.

I have tools now, mechanisms, skills.

Techniques to escape – but also to avoid this

And see how well that worked…

It’s hurting me. And I feel so ashamed

Because I _should have known better_.

I’ve been down this road so many times.

And you’d have thought by now I’d learned.

So here I am again? Staring into the abyss.

Not as lost as before, but just as scared.

Maybe even more so, this time is different.

I have broken my promise to never return.

I’m not as alone either, not if I choose not to be.

Of course I always had the choice

But now maybe I am willing to take it

Does that tell you just how scared I am?

In my defense, I knew it was obsessive.

I knew it was addictive. I felt it taking over

My brain chemistry and dominating my thoughts.

But I wrote it off as nothing to worry about.

Why? Why! Why would I do that? Why did I do that?

It’s like I was deliberately stabbing myself

In the back while doing everything

I could to tell myself I wasn’t. Liar.

So now I’m here again. Facing so much.

Medical, psychological, social, mental.

I want to run away and hide but

Can you really blame me?

I think I know how this will go.

I want to be proved wrong but

Unfortunately, I doubt I will.

I know where this path will lead.

So I’m scared. Sue me!

So I didn’t want to believe it.

Can you understand why?!?

I am back in this hole and I hate it.


	150. A New Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a strange process. But fluffy things always help.

It’s interesting for me

To look down at my hand

Or wrist or thigh

And find a scratch

Or bruise or mark

That I didn’t place there

That’s creation is a mystery

Instead of nightmarish memory

To me – I know the cause

I have an explanation

But involves a new family member

With claws and fluffy cuteness

In seemingly equal amounts

I worried it could be triggering

To see flesh I have striven so hard

To keep unbroken all red and raised

And though I do often double-take

I remember that my own hand

Did not make these – I did not fail

Only succeeded even more

And now have a furry companion

To help me on my way

Despite the many scratches given

To my sleeveless uncovered arms.


	152. Future Love

I would not say I do not expect to find love

Simply that I do not expect love to find me

I anticipate falling in love and getting my heart broken

Because this is what society has told me

But I do not prepare for a relationship someday

I do not believe that someday I will be loved

For this is also what the media has taught

That I am someone who is a nuisance

A relationship with whom is to be endured

Tolerated and eventually learnt from

I am not someone who will be adored

Merely a curiosity like something from a museum

An experience to sample but ultimately leave.

_They say love is an adventure, a story to unfold_

_But all I ever wonder is if the tale is getting old.  
_


	154. Tell me why.

I wish I could blame it on

‘that time of the month’

Or even that maybe I’m

‘particularly stressed right now’

But in reality it’s just my brain

Choosing to give me hard time.

Make me afraid. Make me tired.

Make me regret and overthink.

Make me cry in the dark of the night.

And I still don’t know why…


	155. All I've got is you

I scroll through my texts

Through the people I forget

Past the numbers and faces

Of those from before

And I realise now

I never lost you then

Even though sometimes

I feel like I left

So I’m sorry for all the

Times I made you sad

And I’m sorry if ever

I managed to make

You actually mad

But it’s 3am and I’m alone

And it’s dark both here

And in my head

And I realise

That all I’ve got is you


	156. How many days are in two years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm 100 days from being 2 years clean.

How many days are in two years?

How many days do I have to wait?

How much longer until my wish is fulfilled

And my achievement is finally reached? 

How many months make up two years?

How many times must I ride the rapids?

How much must I endure of my body

And brain scheming to erase me? 

How many hours occur in two years?

How many until it is too many to count?

How much of those hours I have left

Will I spend waiting for them to go by? 

How many lifetimes exist in two years?

How many people will I have been by then?

How much must I change just so that 

I can survive to see the 730th day arrive?


End file.
